


Unbecoming

by Lissadiane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is willing to help him out with that, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, My first story too explicit for schnoogle, Old old story, Post-Hogwarts, Ron cries a lot, Ron is closeted and afraid and drinks too much, Written a long time ago, archive, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 76,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissadiane/pseuds/Lissadiane
Summary: Denial and fear aren’t such horrible things, especially when you’ve got alcohol and loneliness to hide behind. Ron is perfectly happy in the empty lifehe’s made for himself, until Draco Malfoy takes one look at him and understands the things Ron fears even better than he himself does.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 91





	Unbecoming

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU AnaS for saving this and sending it to me twice now, because I failed to figure out the file type the first time. 
> 
> This was written decades ago (oh god how did that happen), in 2003, maybe. A few people have asked for it to be reposted, so here it is. The super secret favourite HP fic that I wrote in which Ron, apparently, cries too much, but I feel like he went a long time without crying at all and this is just what happens when Draco comes along and forces him to confront all the things he's afraid of.
> 
> There might be some internalized homophobia here, I'm not sure. Probably. So if that's a thing you don't want to read, maybe skip this one. Also I apologize if it's got any wonky formatting. Apparently back in the day, I routinely wrote 80,000 word stories.

Chapter one 

It was a dark and stormy night; Ron had always loathed stories that started that way, they never ended well. Still, he could remember many nights at home as a little boy, sitting on the floor by the hearth in the Burrow, Ginny beside him trying to restrain her giggles, Percy standing, more dignified, against the wall, as their father launched into a bedtime story that always began that way.

“It was a dark and stormy night and there didn’t seem to be a single other person alive in the world…”

“It was a dark and stormy night and people everywhere were rushing home to be with their families…”

“It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night that makes the lonely feel more alone, the cold feel colder…”

All of which were possible beginnings for this story as well.

However, Mr. Weasley rarely finished a story like that, because Mrs. Weasley would overhear and call a halt to it before it got too grisly, and all of a sudden clouds and rainbows would burst out of nowhere and everything would end with a sunny smile and a kiss and a brisk broomstick ride into the rising sun. Well, not directly into it, upwards, at any rate.

It was memories like that which made Ron drain his tumbler of whiskey in one last burning gulp and wish wistfully that his mother were here to snap in that commanding voice of hers, “Stop right there, mister, what do you think you’re doing, telling a story like that? Now make it end happily or else…”

If there was anyone who could command the sun to break through a dark and stormy night, it was his mother.

A crack of thunder interrupted his musings and Ron glanced at the clock; it was only nine.

He slumped in his chair and scowled, watching the flames flickering in the hearth and wondering why nights like this seemed to go on forever. Maybe if he’d started drinking earlier, he’d be wasted by now and the night wouldn’t seem so dark and long and…well, lonely.

There was a knock on the door and he scowled. An ambassador from his family, no doubt, coming to see how he was, if he’d drunk himself into a coma yet. Probably Percy; it was always Percy.

He set his glass aside and made his way to the door, throwing it open and wincing from the sudden onslaught of rain.

It wasn’t Percy; Ginny stood there in a black coat that was too big for her, her hair in soaked tangles, plastered to her head and around her face, her eyes huge and shining in the weak light that filtered onto the front step from the kitchen.

Ron was surprised to see her. It wasn’t that they weren’t close, he was closer to Ginny than any of his other siblings, which was what surprised him. Friday nights were generally reserved for visits from Percy or Charlie, all encouraged by his mother, to impart her gentle guidance. He was sure that his mother reserved Saturday mornings for receiving full reports on his deterioration, but he’d never asked.

He glared at Ginny, bewildered and hurt. “It’s Friday,” he said.

“I’m well aware,” she replied.

“Mum sent you?”

She shrugged delicately. “Percy’s sick. Charlie’s out of town. Bill’s still off in Egypt. Fred and George are hopeless. I was a last resort.”

“So you’re spying for mum now?”

“No,” she snapped. “Now I’m freezing my arse off on your front step. Stop sulking and let me in already, Ron.”

He held the door and stepped aside so she wouldn’t drip on him, and made his way to the kitchen while she took off the huge black jacket, which had been a gift from a past boyfriend. He tossed her a towel to dry her hair with and started the kettle for tea, waiting for her to break the silence because she had broken a sacred rule of their brother/sister relationship by coming to his house on Friday night to spy for his mother.

“It’s murder out there,” she said finally, a great deal more brightly, tossing the towel aside. “Mmm, tea. Got any biscuits?”

He took out a box of them and tossed it to her as she made her way to the living room, and then, still scowling, he followed her, leaving the kettle on the stove to heat up.

Ginny had curled up in the armchair nearest to the fire and was munching biscuits, watching the flames flickering in a hypnotized sort of way. Without pulling her eyes away, she said mechanically, “Mum says to tell you not to drink so much, to get out more, to make friends, and wants me to ask you how Harry’s doing. She also mentioned that you shouldn’t forget that it’s Fred and George’s birthday in a few days and you’ll be expected to go to the big party they’re having, and that I’m to make sure you’ve got something to wear as there shall be plenty of eligible girls there that I’m to introduce you to.” She finally looked at him and grinned, mimicking their mother’s voice nearly perfectly. “He’s getting on in years, darling, it’s high time he stopped being shy and started finding a nice girl to settle down with. You know lots of nice girls, make sure he meets them. And tell him to be charming.”

Ron smirked a little and rolled his eyes. “God, Gin, if you drag me around at that bloody party and make me talk to all your friends, I’ll never speak to you again.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I respect my friends too much for that.” Her teasing grin faded. “But you will be there, won’t you? You promise?”

“I will, and I have. Once a week, every week, since the damned party was planned.” He shrugged. “I’ll make an appearance.”

“It won’t be so bad,” she said with bright optimism. “And… Ron, I don’t think he’s going to be there.”

Ron’s entire body stiffened and he poured some more whiskey. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She turned towards him, her eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare play dumb with me, Ronald Weasley,” she snapped. “You’re not drunk enough to be that stupid. Besides, you know exactly who I’m talking about. He won’t be there, Ron. Harry won’t be there. He’s still in Spain, last I heard.”

The kettle started whistling and Ron jumped up, glad to have something to distract himself with. He made tea and when he returned, Ginny was staring down at her hands with a vaguely horrified look on her face. It took him a moment to realize what was different.

“Your ring,” he said, putting the tea things down and suddenly noticing that there was a raw aura of fragility around his sister that he’d been too consumed in self-pity to see. “Where did your ring go?”

Three days ago, when he’d seen her last, Ginny had been wearing a rather large diamond engagement ring, compliments of her boyfriend of three months, William Marique. She’d been rather distractedly proud of the large diamond, had absently said that the wedding would be in three months.

“Did you lose it?” he asked.

She scowled. “No. I… I gave it back.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Why?”

Looking at him and then looking away quickly, she said delicately, her voice very quiet, “Because it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Oh, Gin,” he whispered, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “Did you tell mum?”

She scowled. “You think I want to receive weekly visits from Percy on her behalf?” she asked, laughing in a brittle sort of way. “Besides, she’s got enough to worry about, trying to get you married off.”

“Are you alright?”

“I didn’t want that.”

“I know.” He squeezed. “But Ginny, what do you want?”

She studied him in silence for a long while, her eyes welling up with tears. “Something real?” she whispered, before she broke and she was sobbing.

He sighed and tugged her onto the couch, and she cried for all of three minutes before pulling away, smiling ruefully. “Thanks. I’m alright. It wasn’t right for me. William was… well, good looking and rich and charming and very pretty. But he wasn’t real. He just…likes redheads is all. And freckles. God, you’d think that was enough.” She giggled tearfully, and Ron stroked her hair in silence. She leaned her head against his shoulder and they sat like that for a while.

They hadn’t always been this close. At Hogwarts, she’d just been his little sister. He’d protected her, bossed her around, teased her. It wasn’t until after they’d both become somewhat the ‘disappointments’ of the Weasley family that they’d actually become friends.

“What do you want, Ron?” she asked after a long silence.

He shrugged and smiled a little, distantly. “Same as you,” he replied. “Something real.”

After all, that was all anybody really wanted, wasn’t it? The only real thing that determined what they were searching for was that everyone defined real as something different.

***

He dressed in Muggle clothing partially because it was more comfortable and mostly because it would irritate Percy. Ron chose his jeans and a t-shirt with some Muggle band’s name on it that he’d never actually heard before, but whom his mother referred to as ‘That Muggle Stone Group Linkin Pinkin’. (He’d explained to her that ‘stone’ was not the same thing as ‘rock’ in Muggle terms, but she hadn’t understood). He ran his fingers through his hair absently, made sure he had nothing caught in his teeth, and decided that it was as far as he was going towards making himself ‘presentable’. If Ginny’s prissy witchy friends didn’t like him, he really wouldn’t feel any sort of disappointment.

He was nervous, he tried not to go to gatherings like this that often. Someone would always ask about Harry, in that same sweet, pitying voice. “You two used to be such friends, what changed between you?”

Of course, they all thought it was Harry’s fault (Ron was his best friend and loyal sidekick, it had to have been Harry, who had grown more rebellious and moody over the years, who had ended their friendship). Ron had never bothered to correct them, it would have taken too much time, revealed too many shameful secrets.

Ginny was there at precisely eight to ‘escort’ him to the party (more like ensure that he didn’t back out last minute), and they walked through Hogsmeade towards the twin’s house, which was lit up with thousands of fairy lights. The party was already in full swing and Ron hoped that he’d be able to slip in unnoticed, and leave that way as well.

It was not to be. Charlie was there, waiting for him, probably on orders from his mother. He smiled widely, said “Nice shirt, you look like shit, how’ve you been?” and pulled him away from Ginny’s side. It would be the last Ron was to see of her for a while as he mumbled some vague reply to Charlie and tactfully pulled away from his brotherly hug.

It only took about twenty minutes to ditch Charlie and lose himself in the crush of people, most of whom he vaguely recognized as having attended Hogwarts, though very few were from his year. “A bad year,” Fred had once declared. “There must have been a virus or something that year, spoiled all the good stock.”

Ron had never really understood and had left it to Fred and George to snicker over.

Skirting around the edges of the crowds, Ron managed to keep mostly to himself. The trick was not to make eye contact. That way, lots of people noticed he was there, but they thought him too busy to bother and didn’t talk to him. His mother would not be able to say he hadn’t tried, hadn’t showed up at least.

He grabbed a drink from the kitchen and, craving some degree of solitude, made his way out onto the back porch. The music and sound of voices was cut off there, and he sat in a chair in the corner of the veranda, cracking open the can of Firebeer and taking a long swallow.

It was only a few minutes later when the door slammed open again and someone else stepped out onto the porch, kicking the door shut. Ron couldn’t tell who it was in the shadows and he resolved to keep quiet, hoping they’d leave soon enough.

“Fucking waste of time,” the shadow mumbled, fumbling in his pockets.

Surprise made Ron cry, “Draco Malfoy?”

Malfoy turned, the light filtering through the door catching the side of his face, lighting up his familiar features. “Weasley?” he sneered. “I’d heard you’d taken to drinking your sorrows away, but isn’t it a little early for that?”

Ron scowled defensively. “This is my first one.”

“The night’s young.”

“Fuck you.”

And now the pale features were twisted in a strange sort of smirk, though Malfoy didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out. “You smoke?”

Ron sneered. “It’s a disgusting habit.”

“So’s drinking.” Malfoy tossed him a cigarette and then lit up one for himself, passing him the lighter. He took a long drag while Ron stared at him, bewildered.

Finally, more out of curiosity than anything, Ron put the cigarette between his lips the way he’d seen Malfoy do and lit it, drawing on it experimentally. It burned and he was aware of Malfoy’s laughter while he coughed violently, his eyes watering.

“That’s nasty,” he gasped finally.

Malfoy shrugged. “Yeah. Take it slow, it’s not so bad.”

Hesitantly doing as he was told, Ron still winced as he let the burning smoke out of his mouth. It tasted like ashes. “What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

Malfoy shot him an amused glance and took another drag of his cigarette, the end of it glowing in the dark. “None of your fucking business, Weasley.”

“I’d say it is. You crashed my brothers’ birthday party.”

“Which,” Malfoy drawled, mockingly serious, “is a crime in at least eleven countries. Besides, I didn’t crash, I was invited.”

“By who?”

Malfoy frowned, tilting his head thoughtfully. “One of your brothers,” he said, sneering. “You’ve got so many, it’s hard to tell the difference.”

“Oh fuck you. My brothers wouldn’t have invited you here for anything.”

“Oh trust me,” Malfoy spat, tossing the end of his cigarette away. “Were it up to me, I would have declined. However.”

Ron frowned, thoroughly confused. “However what?”

“However, I wasn’t given a choice,” Malfoy snapped.

He could have asked why, and Ron probably would have, if he really cared. He didn’t, however, so he let a strange silence fall over them, sucking on his cigarette thoughtfully and enjoying the way it made his muscles relax. Malfoy leaned against the railing and stared out into the darkness, a hard look on his face, lost in thought, and Ron studied him for a long moment.

The strips of light spilling through the doorway hit Malfoy like a dozen blades of different swords and daggers, and Ron found his eyes tracing the beam of light that fell across his face, down one cheekbone and across his lips. It looked like a scar, except the effect wasn’t to detract from his appearance. Rather, that sharp band of light spilled across his features and somehow made them more… startling beautiful, though certainly less approachable.

Ron’s eyes flew wide and he tore them away, his breath catching in his throat in a painful prelude to what was shaping up to be a massive panic attack. Malfoy was hardly approachable even on the sunniest day in the middle of summer, he was sure! And he shouldn’t study him like that, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t normal.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut, the cigarette clenched between his fingers.

Malfoy took it with an easy motion, his fingertips brushing Ron’s knuckles in a half a second that burned itself into Ron’s consciousness. “Breathe,” Malfoy said easily, tossing the cigarette over the railing. “And try not to let the cigarette burn down while you’re holding it. It’ll set fire to your clothes and, judging by the way you’re dressed, Weasley, I’d say that your wardrobe has to be lacking if you let yourself be seen in public dressed like that.” He smirked again and sauntered back into the house, leaving Ron to let his head fall weakly into his hands, his chest still shuttering with his panicked breathing.

There was something wrong with him. Something terribly, terribly wrong…

Because just staring at the way daggers of light hit Draco Malfoy had been enough to turn Ron on and… and it just wasn’t normal.

***

The party had broken up and Ron was quite drunk by now, sprawled in one of the large armchairs in the family room. Fred and George had opened their joke shop like they’d planned to and even made quite a bit of money at it, buying their own house in town, a small, rather old and yet still cozy, cottage.

Ginny had gone home earlier, and Charlie was now sitting across from him, inspecting Ron’s flushed face with something like pity in his eyes.

“So,” Ron sneered, his bitterness only fueled by the alcohol he’d consumed. “Did you invite Malfoy here?”

Charlie frowned. “Shut it, little brother, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know that someone ruined a perfectly good party by inviting that sod,” Ron slurred, gesturing wildly with an almost-empty can of Firebeer.

“You don’t know anything and you’re so bloody wasted that you don’t even know it.” Charlie pulled the can from his hand, and Ron glared at him. “Besides,” Charlie finished brightly. “You hate parties, so you would have been miserable with or without Malfoy’s presence”

“But it was Malfoy,” Ron said plaintively.

“He was here for a reason and you should be grateful for it.”

“What reason?” Ron asked in a snotty tone. He mumbled something after that which Charlie, thankfully, didn’t catch, as it had something to do with seducing innocents on the back porch.

“Ginny.”

Ron’s eyes flew wide. “You’re not trying to fix her up with him.” It was definitely not a question.

“Don’t be stupid!” Charlie snapped. “He was protecting her.”

“Protecting her. Of course. From who?” Ron snickered.

“Her fiancé, William, is apparently very possessive, and she dropped him with no real reason for it. He’s quite upset, he’s got a lot of money and influence, Percy was worried so he spoke to the Minister who in turn spoke to the head of the Department of Mysteries, and Draco was assigned to protect her at the party, and maybe longer. They’ve been after William for a long time, apparently, which was why Percy threw such a fit when she announced she was seeing him. They’ve been unable to get evidence on him but suspect he’s in some rather dangerous business ventures and such. Anyway, until this blows over, Ginny needs to be protected and Malfoy is being paid to do it.”

“Malfoy,” Ron sneered. “She’s probably in more danger from him than William.”

“Malfoy wouldn’t hurt her.”

“That wasn’t the danger I was talking about,” Ron snickered.

Charlie scowled. “He wouldn’t dare touch her.”

“He’s Malfoy. He could charm the robes of McGonagall.”

“A mental picture I did not need,” Charlie said gravely. “But point taken. I will look into it and precautionary measures will be taken.”

But Ron was no longer listening. He too had suffered mental pictures involving Malfoy and their old Transfiguration professor. However, his besotted mind had soon blotted out the aging professor and focused solely on Malfoy, who was doing a very fine job of seducing her. If he just took the professor out and inserted himself into the fantasy…

Because fantasies like this were only frightening in the daytime and when he was sober.

He passed out with a small smile on his lips.

***

Late the next afternoon, Ron was sitting on the floor in his living room sorting through a box of old things he’d found in a closet, when, without a knock, the door flew open and Ginny swept in, her face set in lines Ron immediately recognized as indicating her fury.

She smiled in a sharp sort of way and said, “Do be a dear and take this, Ron?” She chucked a suitcase at him.

“What’s going on, Ginny?” he asked her warily.

“Oh, just bringing some of my things over,” she said brightly, her voice vibrating with the strength of her fury.

“…Why?”

“Oh, because some darling brother of mine had decided that I was in danger of being seduced by some bodyguard another brother of mine had decided I needed,” she told him in a sunny tone. “Apparently, as this bodyguard is to watch over me constantly until the ministry can determined that William isn’t going to have me killed, he is to live here also. So I really must thank you, Ron, darling, for without you, I wouldn’t be forced to live here to be protected from the one supposed to be protecting me.”

“Wait.” Ron’s mind had frozen up a few sentences back. “Wait. Your bodyguard—You mean… Malfoy is going to be staying here?”

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Oh no. No way. Uh uh. Ginny, sorry. I love you and everything, but you can’t stay here.”

“I wouldn’t be here,” she snapped. “If you hadn’t told Charlie I was going to fall for Malfoy!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You were probably drunk when you said it! You usually are when you say stuff like that!”

It hurt to here her say it but he didn’t bother to defend himself as it was most likely true. “Stay with Charlie or Fred and George or Percy then,” he pleaded.

“Charlie’s leaving later to go back to Sweden, Fred and George are useless, and Percy’s never home long enough to see to guarding my ‘virtue’. Which, I must say, Ron, is pretty much non-existent. I lost it when I was—”

He looked pained. “Too much information, Gin. Honestly.”

“Well, the fact of the matter remains that I would never, ever fall for Malfoy and you’ve got nothing to be concerned about, but you know that Charlie’ll tell mum if I don’t go along with this! So there you are. I’m being forced to live with you and Malfoy has to come with me too. And trust me, he’s not impressed. I get the guest room, by the way. You get the pleasure of telling Malfoy he’s gotta sleep on your couch.” She smiled again, very sweetly. “Do bring my suitcase up, will you? My hands are full.”

She was carrying a book and a ratty old teddy bear, but Ron was too shocked to complain. He watched her go in silence and then turned back to close the door she hadn’t shut behind her.

Malfoy, scowling furiously, was coming up the front steps.

“Malfoy!” Ron stammered. “You can’t stay here.”

He stopped, eyes narrowing. “You think I want to?”

“Well then, go on! Leave! I won’t tell,” Ron said desperately.

“You’d risk your sister that way?” Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes.

Ron paused. “Take her with you then.”

“Oh shove off and get out of my way.”

He could only watch helplessly as Malfoy made his way into the living room and dropped a suitcase there, inspecting the room with a dissatisfied look on his aristocratic face. “You actually live here?”

Ron didn’t bother to reply, only glanced down the street and longed to be anywhere else but here, and then sadly closed the door, making his way to the kitchen. “Can’t you get reassigned?” he asked morosely.

Malfoy laughed coldly. “I tried, trust me, I did. Babysitting your sister is hardly my idea of a thrill.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

Shrugging, Malfoy sprawled on the couch. “Punishment,” he said blandly. “Apparently my superiors felt that I was due a reminder of the sort of negative results of blatantly breaking rules as I did on my last assignment.” The way he sneered at the word ‘superiors’ made it sound something like ‘disgusting peasants’.

Ron opened the cupboard and pulled out some scotch. Wandering into the kitchen, Malfoy saw it and pulled it out of his hands. “Too early for that,” he said absently, putting it away. Ron stared at him, his mouth hanging open.

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do in my own house,” he snapped.

Malfoy just smirked and then said, “Where’s your sister?”

“Upstairs in the guest room.”

“I assume then, by the way you say the guest room, that you’ve only got one in this rather paltry excuse for a house. Well then, I suppose I’ll take your room.”

“You won’t!” Ron cried, though his mind was instantly filled with a rather vivid picture of Malfoy in his bed, sheets tangled around him, asleep, and he stepped back warily, eyes widening because his breathing was becoming a little heavy.

Malfoy smirked almost as if he could tell. “For safety measures, of course,” he said smoothly. “Unless you’d prefer I sleep with your sister—”

“N-no!”

“Then I assume the closest room is yours. I’m sure the couch will be fine for you, Weasley.” He smiled in a rather commanding sort of way and swept into the living room, making his way up the stairs. “Oh, my suitcase is rather heavy, you’ll find it difficult to manage on the stairs unless you use a lightening charm on it,” he called back.

After he was gone, Ron slumped against the cupboard and groaned softly. “This is a nightmare,” he whimpered.

***

The couch was not the most comfortable couch in the world, and Ron had a very sleepless night. He preferred to think that this sleepless night was due to the spring digging into his back as opposed to, say, the idea that there was a boy in his bed. It was a strange and alien idea. Or should have been. He whimpered softly and buried his face in his sleeping bag and consequently did not sleep at all that night.

When he finally gave up and went into the kitchen, turning on the kettle for tea and digging through the fridge, it was in an extremely bad temper. He had just pulled out a jar of raspberry jam and turned to put it on the counter when he saw Malfoy in the doorway and yelped.

“Jumpy in the morning, aren’t you?” Malfoy sneered, rolling his eyes. He was leaning lazily against the doorframe, watching Ron with an air of detached boredom. And, Ron noticed sourly, he was already dressed, his hair combed perfectly, had he looked like he’d had the best sleep of his life.

“Where’s Ginny?” Ron said after a long pause in which he did not look at Malfoy. At all. Not even when the other boy turned to the fridge and wasn’t looking, at which time Ron could not help but notice the curve of his back when he bent to peer at the food inside. Oh god. He didn’t.

“Sleeping, that sister of yours sleeps like the dead,” Malfoy replied. “I checked on her early this morning.” He glanced at Ron with a hard look in his eyes. “I do intend to do my job, you know, Weasley. Whether I think she’s in danger or not is hardly the issue here, because I will protect her. I’ll be warding the house later today and locking the windows and such with security hexes. Only family members of yours and I will be able to use it unless other people are invited in.”

“Like vampires,” Ron said blankly.

“Precisely.”

This business-like Malfoy was something new to Ron, and he didn’t know quite how to react to it. “Right. Well. Just warn me so I don’t… walk into any hexes or anything.”

Malfoy smiled slowly, grabbing an apple from the fridge. “Why Weasley, spoiling my fun,” he said, and it almost sounded like he was teasing him.

Ron felt his face slowly heating up in response and he knew Malfoy saw it too, because his eyes widened just the tiniest bit and his smile turned predatory, a strange sort of awareness dawning in his gray eyes. “I-I’ve got to go,” Ron stammered, stepping back and turning away quickly.

“Coward,” Malfoy called after him, his voice low and casual, as if he really couldn’t care less.

Ron fled.

Malfoy smirked and bit in the apple he held, chewing it thoughtfully.

***

“Ron….Ron! What on earth are you doing in there?”

Ron’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a startled breath as Ginny pounded on the door again. “N-Nothing!” he called. Water drummed into his skin and ran down his body, cool water. Okay, cold water. Ron had been standing under a cold shower for about an hour now.

“Well hurry up! There are other people who need to use the bathroom too, you know!”

He shut the shower off and wrapped a towel around his waist, flinging the door open and scowling. “It’s my bloody bathroom,” he snapped. “I’ll use it all day if I want to!”

“It’s not yours anymore,” she said sweetly. “Since you informed Charlie that I’m going to be flinging my virtue at the feet of Mr-I’m-so-sexy-Malfoy and he decided that I had to live with you so you may protect my not-quite-existent-virtue, you’ve got to share. So move it, I’m filthy, Malfoy had me casting security hexes all bloody day.”

Ron scooped up his clothes and stalked down the hall towards his bedroom, only to remember, as Draco came out of it, that it was technically no longer his. He squeaked and grabbed his towel tighter and dashed into the guest room that Ginny was staying in, panting loudly in panic.

This was getting ridiculous! Getting kicked out of his own bedroom, sleeping on his own couch, being yelled at for using his own shower, running into Malfoy in his hallway…

It was only as he dried himself off and got dressed into his pajamas that Ron realized he’d been so distracted trying to avoid Malfoy and Ginny all day that he hadn’t had the time or inclination to have a single drink.

***

Ron heard the fighting before he actually got into the house. Malfoy and Ginny had lived in his house for barely forty-eight hours and they’d already driven him from it. And now, from the sounds of it, they were trying to destroy it.

“You’re not going!” Malfoy snapped as Ron stepped warily through the front door.

“I promised them I’d be there and you can’t stop me!” Ginny shouted in return. Ron paused nervously in the doorway, scanning them both for signs of injury.

“You won’t. It’s stupid, you’ve yet to comprehend, Weasley, your life’s in danger and I am not letting you prance off to some high society tea party.”

“Ooh, the Fifth Order Society Tea?” Ron asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes!” Ginny cried.

“She’s not going,” Malfoy countered.

“I go every week!”

“She does,” Ron had to agree.

“Not this week.”

“Listen, no one is going to attack me while I’m drinking tea with my friends.”

“That’s the perfect opportunity!” Malfoy snapped

Ginny’s hands flew to her hips and her lower lip stuck out in that way that Ron knew meant that she was about to become as stubborn as anyone in the world possibly could. “I’m going.”

“You’re not,” Malfoy replied, his voice implying that the topic was closed.

Her eyebrow arched. “Aren’t I?” Ron’s eyes widened because nobody fucked with Ginny when she used that tone.

His arms crossed over his chest and Malfoy smirked, his eyes reflecting the same cold challenge as Ginny’s.

Ten minutes later, Ginny had been tossed over Malfoy’s shoulder (Ron was not jealous), carried upstairs, flung onto her bed (Ron was not jealous), and tied to the bedposts. And Ron was not jealous.

He was, however, quite impressed, though he knew it was never going to work. After Malfoy had locked the door and started back downstairs with a satisfied sort of smirk on his face, Ron, who had watched the entire thing from the doorway, followed him. “Malfoy?” he called, trailing him down the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“That’s not going to work.”

He paused, rolling his eyes. “Why not —”

He hadn’t even finished the question when Ginny started shrieking at the top of her lungs. Ron winced. “She won’t stop till you let her go,” he said. “It’s not even about the tea party anymore, it’s about beating you, and she will.”

“She won’t,” Malfoy snapped, going back up the stairs and casting a silencing charm on the room. The screams were abruptly cut off and he nodded to himself and went downstairs.

Ron darted one swift glance at Ginny’s door and then sighed, following Malfoy into the kitchen. He leaned on the doorway and watched him rummage through the cupboard.

“You should do some grocery shopping,” Malfoy said over his shoulder, scowling. “You’ve got nothing to eat.”

“There’s plenty to eat,” Ron snapped.

“Not all of us are so plebian as to exist on a diet of macaroni and cheese, Weasley,” he replied in a distant sort of way.

“What do you want? Caviar and…and…” Sadly, it was the only expensive food Ron could come up with.

“Caviar and escargot?” Malfoy suggested dryly. “Honestly, Weasley, I find it rather sad that you don’t even know what rich people eat. It would make it that much easier for you to mock me about having money if you knew what having money was like.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ron said with a scowl, though his tone wasn’t as heated as it usually was. He was watching the way the sunlight spilled through the window and flickered every time Malfoy lifted his arm to poke at something in the cupboard.

Glancing over his shoulder, Malfoy smirked but didn’t reply, having found a can of ravioli. “What is this?” he cried, shaking the can doubtfully.

“Muggle food, surely you’ve heard of it?” Ron sneered.

“Of course I’d heard of it, I’ve even eaten it from time to time. Caviar is a Muggle delicacy, you know, as is escargot. However, generally I avoid anything that looks like it was vomited up before it had enough time to get even halfway digested!”

Ron laughed, and Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in irritation. He slammed the can on the counter and leaned indolently against it, waiting patiently for Ron to stop laughing. When Ron finally gasped, “God, Malfoy, your such a prancy little rich boy!”

“…Excuse me?”

Rolling his eyes and still smirking a little, Ron pulled a can opener out of the drawer and opened the can.

“Magic would really hurry that along,” Malfoy drawled.

“Bite me,” Ron replied almost amicably.

Malfoy stepped closer. “Alright,” he breathed, his breath brushing the side of Ron’s neck, making goose bumps rise all over his arms. Ron reacted like he’d been stung and jerked away, eyes widening. Laughing, Malfoy stepped back, shaking his head slowly. “You make it so easy, Weasley.” He was smirking, his eyes beaming with some sort of knowledge Ron wasn’t quite ready to face just yet.

“Umm, what?” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind. Here.” He dumped the ravioli in a bowl and pulled out his wand, heating it quickly and then pressing it into Malfoy’s hands, carefully not to touch him. “I’m… going to check on Ginny. Bring her some water. She probably doesn’t know about the silencing charm, we were never allowed to use that on her at home, mum said that if we had to tie her down, we had to suffer along with her and just let her scream.”

“No wonder she’s such a spoiled little girl,” Malfoy said, smirking at Ron’s obvious discomfort.

“Umm… shut up, Malfoy.” Ron fled, and Malfoy opened random drawers until he found a fork.

He ate a ravioli, grimacing and swallowing fast because it tasted like something slimy had crawled into his mouth and died.

A second later, Ron came skidding back into the kitchen, his eyes wide. “She’s gone,” he gasped. “She got out of the ropes and flew my broom out the window!”

Malfoy was glad, if only for the excuse to stop eating the nasty ravioli. “Right!” he said brightly. “We’d best go find her. Hopefully she’s not dead before I get the chance to kill her.”

Ron blinked and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you must know where this Eight Order of Tea or whatever is!”

“Fifth Order Tea Society,” Ron replied blankly.

“Whatever, that’s where she’s gone, c’mon.”

***

Ronald Weasley did not like girls. Oh, he was not so terrified of his sexuality that he could not admit that. Especially when he was trapped in a tiny parlour that was heavy with the scent of baby powder, clutching a tiny, delicate teacup in one hand and holding a crumpet in the other.

He wasn’t even sure how it had happened.

Alright, who was he kidding? He knew exactly how it had happened. He and Malfoy had arrived at Cora Whittley’s house. Cora, the Matron of the Society, had opened the door, taken one look at Malfoy’s smoky gray eyes, had proclaimed them both Honorary Guests, and ushered them inside.

Ron had almost been afraid that Malfoy was going to tackle Ginny and start beating her for daring to escape, but with one hot, furious glare in her direction, he had then gone on to pretend she didn’t exist. But that didn’t mean he ignored the other ladies in the room. Hardly.

And, again. Ron was hardly jealous. He just hated girls. The way they giggled and acted coy and petted and fawned and touched Malfoy…

Ron was on his feet and nearly shattering the delicate teacup in his hand ages before his mind had caught up with his body. Any part of his body, in fact. Particularly above the knee and below the waist.

The girls were all blinking up at him, startled, Ginny was smirking, and Malfoy looked politely inquiring. “I need air,” he said in a sort of wounded animal whimper. He gently set the cup down next to his abandoned crumpet and hurried out of the tea parlor.

The air outside was no better than the air inside except that it was less filled with pastry and baby powder scents and more filled with the lingering scent of grass and some sort of weed.

“Sodding tea parties.” He scowled, glancing around the high-class neighborhood, idly wondering if assassins were lurking.

There was a flicker of movement across the street, but before he had time to seek out the source, the door opened and Ginny slipped out. “Ron, are you alright?” she asked.

He turned and scowled. “Malfoy’s gonna kill you when you get home.”

“Sod Malfoy,” she said easily. It was very nearly the last thing she ever got to say.

Things could have gone much worse than they did. Had Malfoy not chosen that moment to open the door and had the door not hit Ron’s shoulder and caused him to stumble a bit and yelp, which caused Ginny to turn towards him… things could have gone much worse.

As it was, it happened so fast that it wasn’t until seconds afterwards that Ron managed to process everything. An arrow barely skimmed his shoulder and slammed into the wall of the house. While he stared at that one, he heard a low cry and Ginny fell to the porch beside him. Then, before he could react, Malfoy was cursing and bending over Ginny, an arrow lying beside her.

It was the look of panicked surprise on Ginny’s face that finally evoked a reaction. Her skin was pale and her eyes wide, and her lips trembled a little. “Ginny?” he whispered, only just noticing that Malfoy was shielding her body with his, and talking to her sternly.

“Does it hurt? Tell me if it hurts. You’re alright, tell me if it hurts. Don’t you dare close your eyes, Ginny. Alright, alright… Tell me… tell me all about this tea society of yours. All of it. C’mon now.” He talked to her even as he gently rolled her onto her side and tore her shirt off, inspecting the wound on her shoulder.

“Hey,” Ron said faintly. “You can’t take her shirt off.”

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder and up at Ron, fury making his eyes black. “Shut up, Weasley. Pick up the arrows, go inside, tell them we’re going home.”

He glanced across the road at where the arrows had come from. “But —”

“They’re gone, just go,” Malfoy snapped.

Ron did as he’d been commanded, and when he came back out onto the porch, Malfoy and Ginny were gone. He started running home, terrified that his sister would die before he got there.

Charlie was coming out of a store when Ron dashed by, running right into him. “What on earth are you doing, running with arrows like that in the middle of the day? You could kill someone!”

Ron mumbled, “Ginny’s dead,” and kept running.

Perhaps it was not the smartest thing to have said, but Ron was hysterical and not quite thinking right.

Malfoy and Ginny were upstairs. Ron tossed the arrows to the floor and dashed up into the guest room where he could hear Malfoy talking.

Ginny was lying on the bed, pale and still, her eyes closed, even as Malfoy, who’d rolled her onto her back, gently tended to the wound and spoke to her.

“She’s dead,” Ron moaned.

“She’s not. She’s unconscious. She’ll be alright. Get me some water, I need to clean up the blood.”

That’s when all hell broke loose and Charlie, Fred, George, and Percy burst through the front door, shouting for Malfoy’s death. Apparently all four of them had been there when Ron had told Charlie that Ginny was dead, and they blamed Malfoy.

Before Ron could do anything, all four of his older brothers stormed into the room.

“What happened?”

“What did you do?”

“Is she alright?”

“I’m gonna kill you!” They spoke all at once, and the loud noise was enough to make Ginny moan incoherently and Ron flinch.

“Get your brothers out of here,” Malfoy said in a cold voice, not looking up from the shallow wound in her shoulder.

They howled and cursed and threatened, but Ron managed to herd them out of the guest room and downstairs, explaining to them what had happened, as best he could recall. It all sort of felt like he’d been distanced from the situation and remembering it all in pictures. The arrows, the sounds, the shock.

Malfoy, of course, was not to blame, and after Ron reassured them that he had said that Ginny would be alright, they calmed down significantly. Percy still looked like he was going to cry, Fred looked incredibly jumpy, George was crimson with rage, and Charlie wanted to pound someone, but at least, Ron decided miserably, that fury was no longer directed at Malfoy. Not that he cared if Malfoy was harmed, of course. But it had been Ginny’s own fault she had put herself in harm’s way.

A few long hours passed, and his brothers, convinced by Malfoy that the arrow had just grazed Ginny, left, promising to check in later.

Exhausted, confused, and aching, Ron flopped on his couch and stared longingly at the flask of whiskey that he’d left across the room and was too lazy to get up and fetch.

Malfoy, carrying the two arrows, sat in the armchair across from him.

Ron cleared his throat. He had been so startled by Malfoy’s sudden appearance in his home that he had never even really given much thought to the threat on Ginny’s life. “Tell me what’s going on,” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know for sure,” Malfoy admitted, glancing up coolly and then studying the arrows some more.

“Someone’s after Ginny?”

“I told you they were.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t believe you. Who would want to hurt her? I guess we’re lucky the arrow just grazed her.”

Malfoy glanced up again and then smirked coldly. “No, Weasley, the only luck we had today was that you weren’t killed. They were aiming to kill you and missed. The arrow meant for Ginny did exactly as it was meant to.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco held up one arrow, with black feathers on the end. He held it up as if it were strung on a bow, and then said, “This one was aimed at Ginny. See how the arrowhead lies vertically if it were strung in a bow? It isn’t meant to go very deep, just puncture the skin and fall out. The tip was coated with a potion meant to knock her out but not kill her. This other one,” he picked up the other arrow, which was tipped with red feathers. Stringing that one up, the arrowhead lay horizontally. There was a tiny hook on the very tip. “It’s meant to slip between a human’s ribs and then the feathers cause it to twist a little once it’s past them, so that the hook digs in and if you pull it out, it tears the flesh. It’s meant to kill. It was meant for you. They wanted to kill you and knock her out so they could take her. It means they’re not trying to kill her at all, they want her for something.”

Feeling quite ill, Ron whispered, “But what?”

“I suspect she’ll be able to tell us more about that when she wakes up. In the mean time, you look like shit.”

Snorting, Ron said, “Oh, thank you. Like I care. Not all of us can come out of situations like these looking like sodding sex gods, Malfoy.”

Before his words even registered in his own ears, Ron was aware that he’d said something wrong, because Malfoy was grinning in a frighteningly cocky manner. “Sex god?” he said. Well, purred would be a more appropriate word, but Ron firmly told himself that he did not care whether Malfoy said it or purred or bloody well shouted it from a rooftop. He did not get goose bumps just because of the way Malfoy’s voice sounded when he said that! He didn’t! “I’m flattered, Weasley,” Malfoy finished in that same drawling sort of silky voice, and this time Ron did get goose bumps, and shivers too.

“Shut up,” he said weakly.

Malfoy just laughed, and when Ron got up and made to leave the room, he laughed even harder. Ron fled up the stairs and into the bathroom, where he stayed in the shower for the better part of an hour.

***

It was dark and he was supposed to be sleeping. Malfoy had told him he was supposed to sleep, actually, which didn’t, of course, mean he had to listen. But the fact of the matter was, Ron was still awake, and it was not because he didn’t want to sleep just because Malfoy had told him to. Quite honestly, he wouldn’t mind sleeping. It was just… well… It was bloody dark in his living room! He’d never noticed before!

It was probably the fact that an arrow with a hook on the end had attempted to murder him that afternoon.

He tossed again, couch squeaking beneath him, and Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a hiss from the top of the stairs.

“Weasley!”

“…Malfoy?”

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, I can hear you from up here!”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why the sodding hell not?”

“… It’s so dark down here.”

There was a pause and then a muffled curse and Malfoy stalked into the living room and flipped on the light.

Oh holy mother of…

Ron’s eyes were going to fall out of his head. He was going to swallow his tongue. Oh god oh god. “Malfoy,” he squeaked. “You’re… you’re not dressed.”

Malfoy, wearing a pair of boxers that seemed tight in all the wrong places and made out of some flimsy, clingy, shiny material, scowled. “I was attempting to sleep.”

Ron, who was decently clothed in cotton pajamas, said faintly, “Naked?”

“Honestly, Weasley, if I was naked, you’d know it.” Malfoy flopped down in the armchair and Ron sat up, deliberately ignoring the other boy’s state of undress.

“Is Ginny alright?”

“She’ll be fine, probably wake up soon.”

Ron glanced at his hands, biting his lip. It was hard to admit this, to Malfoy. “I’m scared for her,” he said. “I mean, I never even thought about it before, but she could die.”

Malfoy cocked his head, scratched his chest, ran a hand lazily through his hair, and said, “They won’t get close enough to touch her again. Leave her to me, she’ll be fine. You just keep those bloody brothers of yours in line.”

“Easier said than done. They’ll be here tomorrow to check on her.”

“Keep them away from her. She won’t be feeling well when she does wake up, certainly won’t be up to a bunch of overprotective brothers smothering her.”

“You promise she’ll be alright?” he asked quietly, worry about his sister even distracting him from Malfoy’s nearly naked body.

Malfoy snorted. “She’s fine, Weasley.”

“I nearly died,” Ron said shakily.

Gray eyes studied his face silently for a long moment, and then Malfoy drawled, “That’s why you can’t sleep?”

“I keep thinking about it over and over and over and…” he trailed off, swallowing thickly.

He was sitting with his back against the couch, leaning against the arm with his blanket tangled around his hips, so even had Ron had the presence of mind to run, he never would have gotten all that far. As it was, he could scarcely breathe or think, and when Malfoy got up from his chair in one fluid motion and suddenly leaned forward, one knee on the edge of the couch, Ron could only blink stupidly up at him.

Malfoy’s lips were dry, warm, and a little rough. He brushed them over Ron’s lightly, and straightened up, walking out of the room.

“Wha —” Ron stammered.

“Something else to think about,” Malfoy called over his shoulder, his voice more silky than ever.

“Oh…” Ron said blankly, staring at Malfoy’s back (back, not anything concealed — barely — by his boxers) as he disappeared up the stairs.

# Chapter 02

Unbecoming  
By Cinnamon  


Chapter Two

“Weasley. Weasley.” The words were accompanied by a sharp jab in the ribs, and Ron opened his eyes, moaning weakly. He hadn’t gotten to sleep until dawn.

“What?” His head was pounding — No, that was the door. What time was it?

Malfoy was leaning over him. “Your sister’s sick and there’s someone at the door. Most likely your sodding brothers. Let them in or tell them to piss off, the pounding isn’t making her feel any better. Don’t let them upstairs, the last thing she needs as this wears off is a bunch of panicking brothers, which includes you.”

He nodded, though he hadn’t really paid attention to anything he’d been told, and Malfoy disappeared. Ron would have gone straight back to sleep, but there was still that pounding…

Stumbling to the door, he threw it open and blinked at Charlie. “What?”

Charlie frowned. “You look horrible.”

“So do you. What do you want?”

“To see Ginny.”

Malfoy’s instructions came filtering back, and Ron shook his head. “Malfoy says no.”

“Bugger Malfoy!” Charlie snapped, pushing passed and stomping up the stairs.

“Charlie!” Ron moaned. “You’ll get me in trouble.” He was still half asleep, and trailed along helplessly after his older brother.

The sight in the guest room would have shocked him senseless had lack of sleep not already done so. Ginny, her face gray and pale, was leaning over, vomiting into a bucket, while Malfoy stroked her back and whispered to her gently. Malfoy, being gentle? It was unheard of.

“What have you done to her?” Charlie growled.

“I thought I told you to keep your brothers out!” Malfoy hissed.

“He’s bigger than me!” Ron cried defensively.

“I’m dying.” Ginny flopped against Malfoy’s chest.

“You’re not,” he told her firmly.

Charlie shouted, “Keep us out so you can molest her?”

“Charlie,” Ron sighed. He tugged at his brother. “Malfoy’s taking care of her, c’mon…”

He herded Charlie from the room and slammed the door behind him, before turning back to Malfoy and Ginny. “What’s wrong with her?”

“The potion that the arrow was tipped with has nasty side effects, that’s all. It should be better by this afternoon.” Malfoy glanced up at him, still holding Ginny. “Lock the doors and put a silencing charm on it, would you? Your brothers really are tiresome.”

“I heard that!” Charlie shouted. Ginny moaned and clutched her head and that was all Ron needed. He was out of the room and shoving Charlie down the stairs and out the door a moment later, locking and silencing it. If Charlie banged on the door, it was blissfully silenced. Running about closing all the curtains on all the windows, Ron effectively prevented them from peering in that way as well.

The house was cast into shadow, at least the lower floor, and Ron got a glass of water and brought it upstairs for Ginny.

“Stay with her,” Malfoy ordered. “I’ve got to report all this to my superiors.”

“Shouldn’t you have done that before you went to sleep?” Ron asked doubtfully.

Malfoy grinned. “Probably.”

After he left, Ron held the water to Ginny’s lips and then set the glass aside. She curled up against him, moaning about her head, and fell into a restless sort of sleep. Moments later, Ron had done the same.

***

He woke up alone in the guest room, to the sound of shouting coming from downstairs. Ginny was screaming something, he couldn’t make out the words. Apparently she was feeling better.

A little hesitantly, Ron crept down the stairs. He paused in the doorway to the kitchen, where the yelling was coming from, and sighed. Malfoy and Ginny were fighting again because Ginny wanted to go out.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Your stupid sister thinks she’s going out,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not stupid,” she said sulkily. “Honestly, Ron, you know me. Tell him no one wants to kill me.”

Ron looked at her doubtfully. She had that look of hers that usually meant she was trying to wheedle her way out of some punishment or other. “Just to be safe, Gin, I think you should —”

“Who would want to kill me? Honestly.”

“The incident yesterday would indicate that someone does,” Malfoy drawled.

“That was a fluke! They could have been after Ron!”

“I haven’t done anything!” he snapped, growing annoyed. Really, Ginny was acting like a brat!

“And what have I done?” she asked in reply.

“Broken up with a Death Eater?” Malfoy yawned, looking rather bored.

Ginny’s lower lip trembled and she was quiet for a moment. It was Ron who spoke next, sharply. “A Death Eater?”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“Well you do now,” Malfoy said easily, shrugging.

She swallowed and said carefully, “You’re going to get someone hurt, Malfoy. If you keep on like this, someone’ll be hurt.”

“Someone like your brother?” he replied.

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“He nearly died last night because of you.” Malfoy’s voice was not deliberately cruel.

“No. No, you told me I was the only one hit.”

“There was another arrow, meant to kill. It narrowly missed him.” His eyes were sharp, trained on Ginny’s face, though his body still looked relaxed and calm.

Her eyes filled with tears and her lip was trembling again, only this time, she looked beseechingly at Ron. “Make him stop,” she begged. “I didn’t know, I swear, I didn’t know…”

“Oh, shove off with this whole victim shit,” Malfoy snapped.

“Malfoy,” Ron said quietly. “Stop it. Ginny, calm down. Tell us what happened, we’re trying to help. If you know why they wanted you, tell us.”

She seemed ready to bolt, but after a moment, warily, she sank down onto the couch. “I didn’t know, when he first started courting me, what he was. I thought he was handsome and rich and thought maybe it was real, like a fairy tale. Then he started asking me things.” She darted a quick glance at Ron and then looked at the floor. “About the Chamber of Secrets. And T-Tom. Tom Riddle. It was strange, I don’t like talking about it, you know that, Ron. But I thought maybe he cared, so I answered, as best I could, but he wouldn’t stop asking. It scared me, he was sort of obsessed and I told him that I didn’t want to talk about it one night, and he was drunk, and he got angry. I guess I sort of figured out what he was, a Death Eater, after that. I mean, it was kinda obvious, I’d just been blind. So I left him.”

“What sort of questions did he ask?” Malfoy said quietly, eyes narrowed in thought.

“What Tom had said and… and what he’d done and all that. You know. If I had nightmares. If I’d l-liked it. If I had ever wondered why I’d been chosen and given the diary…” she cleared her throat and laughed nervously. “Because your father…” she glanced at Malfoy and then away quickly. “Because he thought it would be funny?” It didn’t come out as she’d intended, flippant and cool. Instead, it sounded hopeful and far too optimistic to be true. Malfoy didn’t bother to reply.

“And then you left him and somehow your brother Percy heard rumors that he was after you and sought to have you protected. I wonder if he knows more than he told us. Which was bloody stupid, honestly, how am I to protect you if I don’t know the whole story?” Malfoy’s voice was soft, almost as if he had forgotten they were in the room and was talking to himself. Finally, his eyes focused on Ginny’s face and he cleared his throat. “That’s everything? You don’t know anymore?”

“That’s everything. But if I remember anything else…”

Malfoy nodded. “Let me know. In the mean time, I’ll be in contact with the Ministry, giving them this new information, and setting up a little meeting with that brother of yours.” Malfoy looked satisfied, and Ron finally got up the nerve to speak.

“Guys? What about… well, what do we do now?”

Malfoy looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, someone’s trying to take Ginny and we don’t know why but it’s got something to do with Tom Riddle and Voldemort and someone nearly killed me… Don’t… don’t you think we need a bit more help than just one bodyguard sent from the ministry? Maybe we should call… H-Harry.” It hurt to speak the name. Burned like he’d tried coughing up smoldering coal.

Both Ginny and Malfoy looked incredulous, and for different reasons. Ginny, because Ron hadn’t mentioned Harry in over a year, and Malfoy because Ron had dared question his ability to do his job.

“The whole world does not go crawling to Harry Potter the first time something goes wrong,” Malfoy said stiffly. “Besides, has it ever occurred to you that perhaps he’s not that good at doing good, he’s just awfully good at attracting bad situations and surviving them through sheer luck? Honestly, luck is not what we need right now. We need careful planning and calm, rational thinking, not crass bravery and boldness.”

Feeling slightly chastised and somehow vindicated (Ron hadn’t really wanted to call Harry, after all. It wasn’t that he wanted Malfoy to stick around, it was that he didn’t want Harry… Just because he was slightly coming to terms with Malfoy’s presence, that didn’t mean a sodding thing!), Ron nodded and smiled a bit. “Right then. So we go to the ministry? Go into hiding? Owl Dumbledore?”

Malfoy looked troubled. “No, Weasley. We stay here. It’s as safe here as anywhere. Besides, how are we going to discover their plan if we run?”

“Discover their plan? What more is there to discover? They want to hurt Ginny! We’ve got to run!” Ron cried.

“Malfoy’s right,” Ginny said grudgingly. “We can’t stop them if we run.”

Ron threw up his hands and let out an exasperated cry. “You’re both mad, I swear! What good will it do anyone if you’re killed, Gin?”

“She won’t be. They won’t get that close again. Will they?” It sounded like a threat, and Malfoy turned a stern gaze on Ginny.

“No,” she whispered, looking pale and shaken. “I… I’m sorry, Malfoy, I should have listened to you.”

“No!” Ron cried, only because he felt it important that Malfoy not get the impression that he was the one calling the shots here. Even if Ron had the sinking suspicion that he was.

Ginny and Malfoy ignored him. Now they were discussing defense techniques and Ron felt thoroughly unneeded. He stalked from the room, hoping someone would notice his petulant departure, but no one did. He was in the kitchen a few minutes later when Ginny came looking for him.

“You alright?” she asked.

He glared at her. “Don’t I look it?”

“You look tired,” she admitted.

Ron sighed; he never could stay angry with her for long. “I hardly slept last night,” he admitted, face flushing a little. Oh, he longed to say. And I forgot to mention. I think Malfoy kissed me.

“Go sleep then,” she said, smiling a bit. “Upstairs, you can sleep in my room.”

“I refuse to sleep in the guest room of my own house,” he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. “Then sleep in your own bed, I don’t care. Malfoy won’t be using it, he said he’s going to be writing owls to the ministry all day or something.”

Ron wanted to argue. He wanted to object. He opened his mouth to do just that, but the indignant cry didn’t come. Instead, he said in a cowed tone, “Alright.” Before he could think, he was up the stairs and in his room, stripping to his knickers and sliding into the sheets on his bed.

They smelled of Malfoy and it was strangely calming and relaxing, yet completely alien. Sleeping in a bed that smelled of anyone but him, and Malfoy especially. But it made him feel safe and he burrowed beneath the sheets until they were up to his nose, and fell into an almost contented sleep.

***

Ron was more exhausted even than he had realized, because he slept all day and woke up the next morning, still in his bed that had been hi-jacked by Malfoy. For a long moment, it was like every morning he’d known since moving into this house the year before. A vague sense of disorientation, a queasy feeling in his stomach, and a long moment of panic as he struggled to place where he was. Usually, that strangeness was caused by all the alcohol he’d drank the night before. This morning, it was a strange feeling of I’m not supposed to be here. It took him a long moment to remember why.

This was Malfoy’s bed now.

He sat up with a yelp, almost as if he expected the other boy to have slipped into bed next to him. Malfoy hadn’t, of course. Ron was alone in his bedroom and the strange feeling of almost disappointment that hit him made him wince and panicky leap from the bed.

The shower was running, so he went downstairs, finding Ginny in the kitchen.

“Ron,” she said, smiling sleepily. “I was getting worried.”

“Where’s Malfoy?” he asked.

“Showering.” She gave him a strange look. “He’s in a bad mood too. From sleeping on the couch.”

“He… he slept on the couch? Did he try to wake me? I was pretty tired, I probably didn’t wake up.”

Again, that strange look. “No. I was going to wake you, but he wouldn’t let me. Said you hadn’t slept much the night before, went all cryptic and wouldn’t tell me how he knew that or why you hadn’t.” She looked at him again, obviously awaiting an explanation.

Ron’s face slowly heated up. “He didn’t want to wake me even though it meant sleeping on the couch?”

She shrugged. “Apparently.”

It was disconcerting and, to be honest, a bit annoying, that he should feel grateful because Malfoy let him sleep in his own bed.

When Malfoy came downstairs, it was with a scowl already fixed on his face, an expression which Ron matched. If he had thought about it, he would have found it odd (but rather fitting) that the first sign of any sort of… less than hostile interaction between them… was met with more hostility on both sides. Malfoy for being inconvenienced and waking up with cramps in his muscles, and Ron for having to feel thankful for it.

“Your shower sucks,” Malfoy informed him.

“So do you,” Ron replied quickly.

Malfoy just smirked and rolled his eyes, opening the fridge. “Living with you two is worse than a whole house full of bickering brothers,” Ginny mumbled.

Ron stuck his tongue out at her and then glanced sideways at Malfoy sheepishly, hoping he hadn’t noticed; Malfoy had, of course. He burst out laughing, his scowl gone, the foul mood obliterated. “Honestly, Weasley, keep your tongue in your mouth unless you intend to use it,” he teased, peering into the fridge.

Glad at least that his immaturity had cheered Malfoy up somewhat (because of course Ron would rather be stuck in a house with a Malfoy who wasn’t intent on driving him mad purely out of spite and moodiness. It had nothing to do with liking Malfoy’s smile— Which he didn’t. At all.), Ron allowed his own testiness at having to be grateful at being allowed to make use of his own bed fade a bit.

“I’m making coffee and toast,” Ginny announced. “And Charlie owled. He and Percy are coming by later today to discuss the umm incident the other day.”

Malfoy nodded, turning serious now. “Good then. I need to speak to Percy. I’m sure he knows more than he’s telling.”

“He probably just didn’t want to worry me,” Ginny said.

“Well, better have you worried than dead.” Malfoy came to the table, spun a chair around, and straddled it, cocking his head to the side and turning his gray eyes on Ron, who, having felt pretty much left out of that short exchange, had unknowingly begun staring at the other boy. He noticed now, however, once the stare had been returned, and his face turned crimson. Malfoy grinned.

Ron shook himself a bit and turned to Ginny, hoping Malfoy didn’t think he was attempting to provoke some sort of staring contest or something. Maybe Malfoys were like dogs, who went mad when you stared at them. Or something. It made him nervous anyway, being looked at like that. Like a bone or something that a dog would kill to eat. He licked his lips and told himself firmly that the only reason he rather liked that imagery was because it was so early in the morning and he had not yet had his morning coffee. Not to mention that Malfoy was fresh from the shower and looked rather, erm, cute with his hair matted to his forehead with water.

Ah, Ron wailed silently. I’ve lost my mind.

“You alright, Ron?” Ginny asked suddenly, frowning. “You’re staring at me. Have I got something in my teeth?”

“I need to get some groceries,” Ron mumbled, bolting from the room and out of the house, ignoring Ginny’s startled questions and Malfoy’s snicker.

Malfoy couldn’t have known what was going on in Ron’s head, of course. Because it wasn’t natural and it wasn’t right and no one in the world would look at Ron the same again if they knew how mad he was. How absolutely crazy he was. So of course it was only his imagination that Malfoy’s smirk seemed somehow knowing and his eyes had lingered on Ron’s lips in a purposeful way, as if he were purposely attempting to remind Ron of that weird not-quite-a-kiss of the other night. Which had, after all, just been a Malfoyesque way of trying to drive Ron further into madness, he was sure. It was all his imagination.

Which, after all was said and done, left Ron feeling rather lonely, all of a sudden.

***

They were sitting in the living room of Ron’s small home, and Charlie was lividly berating Percy for daring keep his top-secret ministry information a secret. Apparently, he claimed, ‘top-secret’ did not apply to family. Percy had protested, though weakly. He had known that William was a Death Eater, he had known that they wanted Ginny for something, but the Ministry didn’t yet know what. So he had arranged protection for her and there was nothing much else he could do.

While Charlie berated Percy and Ginny tried to defend him, Ron stared morosely at a potted plant in the corner, for the most part, forgotten. It had always been this way in his family. Bill was the easy-going, cool one, Charlie was the hot-headed one who’d inherited his mum’s temper, Percy was intelligent, the twins were tricksters, and then you skipped right over Ron’s head and landed at Ginny, who was the flirty little sister. Ron was… Ron was nothing. Harry Potter’s ex-best friend. Side-kick to the Brilliant Hermione Granger. Youngest son of a too-large family with no skills or talents, nothing.

It was rather depressing, but he didn’t like to think about it. So his mind was drifting far away as he stared at that potted plant that Hermione had bought him when he first moved in here as a housewarming gift. It needed to be watered, he realized.

“Weasley.” The word was accompanied by a jab, and Ron yelped, causing Charlie’s rant to be interrupted. After he had seen that it was only Ron, he returned to shouting, and Ron was able to glare at Malfoy, who had poked him.

“What?”

“How long is your brother going to shout?”

Ron cocked his head and considered. “Depends how long it takes till Ginny gets fed up with it and starts to cry.”

When Charlie paused for a breath, it gave Percy a chance to defend himself, and he snapped, “Nothing would have happened the other day if Malfoy hadn’t let her leave! She’s perfectly safe here, it isn’t my fault they nearly took her!”

Charlie turned to Malfoy now, and began thoroughly berating him. Malfoy just smirked silently and waited for Charlie to pause so that he could speak and Ginny had lapsed into sheepish silence, so Ron figured it was his job to defend him. “Hey,” he said, but no one listened. “Hey!” he repeated, a bit louder. Still, Charlie kept shouting. Ron started screaming, “Hey! Malfoy told her not to go, he tied her up, he locked her up, it’s her own damned fault she was in danger and she knows it, so just leave Malfoy alone!”

His throat was raw when he was finished, and everyone was staring. Ron hadn’t had the incentive or energy to scream in months. “Erm,” he said, clearing his throat, his face turning a bit pink. “I’m done now.”

Before anyone could say anything about his outburst (and a little worried that the one thing that had inspired him to shriek like a banshee was Malfoy), Ron fled.

He went up the stairs and then stood in the hallway, blinking. After all, his options were limited. He used to think that this house was too big, when it was just him. Now, however, with two extra ‘guests’, it seemed remarkably small.

He was about to go into the bathroom to hide when Malfoy touched his shoulder from behind. He had probably tried calling Ron’s name, but Ron had been so embarrassed and distracted from everything downstairs that he hadn’t noticed. Anyway, Malfoy touched him, and Ron reacted with a startled yelp.

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped.

Malfoy blinked and, as much as Malfoyly possible, looked startled. “Calm down, Weasley, honestly.”

Shaking his head and scowling a bit, Ron mumbled, “Sorry. You startled me. I don’t like being touched is all.”

“Obviously,” Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes. “I just wanted to know what that was about down there.” He gestured vaguely to the stairs.

“What what was about?” Ron asked, letting his eyes widen in an attempt to look as dumb as a post.

Malfoy sighed, grabbed his arm (deliberately forgetting that Ron didn’t like to be touched), and tugged him into his — Ron’s — bedroom. “Right,” he said, after kicking the door shut. “Now explain.”

“I don’t owe you any explanations, Malfoy. And besides, I don’t know what you want explained!” Ron could feel his face turning red, whether from embarrassment, frustration, or how oddly thrilling it was to be alone with Malfoy in his bedroom, he couldn’t tell.

Malfoy was smirking, leaning back against the doorjamb, (blocking the exit, which, Ron reminded himself, if he weren’t, Ron would have escaped long ago). He said in a bored sort of tone, “You really think this is making everything easier on yourself?”

Blinking, Ron stepped back warily. “What? Malfoy, you’re not making any sense.”

“Right then,” Malfoy said. “Back on topic then. Why do you run every time anyone notices you?”

Ron frowned. “W-what?”

“No, really. Like down there. You speak up for the first time since I’ve been living here —”

“Which really hasn’t been that long. And besides, you’re not actually living here, just staying, temporarily, until other accommodations can be arranged.”

Malfoy lifted one eyebrow and Ron fell silent, feeling, somehow, rather sheepish for having dared interrupt. Malfoy continued as if he hadn’t. “You hide from people at parties, you live alone, drink far too much —”

“You can never drink too much, that’s my motto.”

“Exactly. And it’s shit. You can and you do, and I know why.” He smirked a little, and Ron took a cautious step back.

“Know why what?”

“Why you’re so terrified.”

“I’m not terrified.”

He snorted. “You’re afraid of your own shadow, Weasley.”

Ron swallowed, and took another step back. Now the back of his legs had hit the side of Malfoy’s — his—bed. “I’m not,” he lied. It sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“I’ve never looked at you!” To prove it, he squeezed his eyes shut.

That was why he was completely unprepared when Malfoy spoke again, and he was so close that his breath brushed Ron’s lips. “I saw it, Weasley.” It was a husky whisper, and Ron panicked.

“Saw what?” he squealed, slipping away and backing towards the door. “Just because you’re at-attracted to me, doesn’t mean —”

“Attracted to you?” Malfoy sounded honestly puzzled. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

Ron blinked and felt like the ground had shifted, just a bit. “Well… well, you kissed me.”

“I did,” Malfoy said, frowning thoughtfully. “If you call that a kiss, anyway.”

“It…wasn’t?”

He sighed. “Weasley. Kissing doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you. I mean, with all due respect, you’re a Weasley.”

“So… so why did you kiss me then?”

“Because I’ve only been in your house for a few days and already you’re driving me fucking nuts!”

He blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”

“It’s so obvious! Maybe not to you, because you’ve been lying to yourself for so bloody long, and maybe not to your family, because they’re, as far as I can tell, bloody useless, but it’s obvious to me.”

“What… What’s obvious?” He was sure he didn’t want to know. He felt rather shaky and nauseous at the very idea of knowing.

“Weasley. Honestly, don’t know already know?”

Ron had never noticed how huge and, well, pretty Malfoy’s eyes could be. Then again, Malfoy had never before looked at him with a gently exasperated, mildly amused sort of pleading in his eyes.

Something inside Ron, something that was located somewhere below his heart and above his stomach, crumbled, and it felt rather like a stone tower or a wall of some sort. His eyes stung with tears and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t,” he lied desperately. “I don’t.”

Malfoy blinked and the strange light in his eyes was gone. He looked annoyed and somehow smug now. “You’re just scared.

That stung. “I’m not!”

“Then admit it.”

Ron swallowed and bit his lip, a sound of denial coming from the back of his throat as he shook his head and stepped away, so that his back was pressed against the door.

“Prove to me that you’re not scared,” Malfoy said in a low tone, looking determined. “Either prove that to me, or prove that it’s not true. That I’m wrong. Either way, Weasley, prove something, because living with you this long while you’re in this fucking denial is enough to give me a headache. I can only imagine what it’s doing to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ron said desperately.

Malfoy stepped closer, so that if Ron only took a deep breath, his chest would graze the other boy’s. “Don’t you?” Malfoy whispered, and Ron’s eyes automatically flickered down to his lips. They twitched with a sort of smug smile and then Malfoy’s tongue slipped out, tracing his lower lip slowly, as if he was aware of the way Ron couldn’t look away.

And of course, he was.

Panicking again, Ron shoved him away as hard as he could, threw the door open, and ran.

***

There was a fine line between being drunk enough to forget everything that worried you, and being so drunk that you did things that would worry you come morning. Usually, Ron was pretty good at getting drunk enough to forget and not so drunk that he did anything he’d regret. That night, however, the lines got a little fuzzy, and before he knew it, he was so drunk that nothing mattered anymore. It was the angry sort of drunkenness as well, the kind that brings with it false courage.

He was at a pub, which was another thing that Ron was not used to. Usually, he drank alone. But he couldn’t be alone at home anymore, not with Ginny and Malfoy there! So he was alone here, in public, with three waiting shots of whiskey in front of him and anger making him stupid.

He took another shot, growling under his breath. Scared? Not bloody likely. There was nothing to be afraid of, because there was nothing wrong with him!

Whiskey burned in his stomach and his veins and he slammed the glass on the bar, glaring at the rings of moisture there.

Scared. Of what? Malfoy was wrong. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t.

And yet the words still seemed hollow, so he took another shot and repeated them. There, that sounded better. He could put more faith in them now. But still, just to be safe, he took another.

He wasn’t scared, though. Really. What was there to be afraid of? He was Ronald Weasley. Normal as anyone could possibly be. Well, as normal as possible considering that he was a wizard who had a fondness for dreaming about/fantasizing about/staring at other wizards…

Lies! He didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

He took another drink.

So what if he did, really? Who cared? Malfoy didn’t care. Malfoy seemed to think it didn’t matter, one way or the other. The only thing Malfoy cared about was that he had a headache from living with Ron. A headache. Poor stupid sod had a headache.

Like Ron cared.

He took the last shot and motioned for some more, before glancing about, rather pleasantly intoxicated. Well, shit-faced, really.

There was a guy sitting at the other end of the bar and Ron had been sneaking tiny glances at him all night. Now, emboldened by the alcohol, he turned his head all the way to look at him.

To his shock, the boy was looking back. Nearly giving himself whiplash, Ron turned back around, his face turning pink, nearly falling out of his barstool. He took another drink and then glanced over again. The boy was still looking. He seemed rather drunk as well. He smiled at Ron and Ron snapped around again, taking another drink.

Then, the next time he looked back, it was to smile in what he hoped was a sexy sort of way.

Because Ronald Weasley wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t. There was nothing to be afraid of, really. Nothing.

The boy came over and touched his hip, leaning over to ask if he could join him. Ron motioned for another drink before nodding, and the boy slid a stool closer so that their knees were touching, and sat beside him, smiling again. Ron smiled back.

Because he wasn’t afraid. Of anything.

# Chapter 03

Unbecoming  
By Cinnamon  


Chapter Three

In later days, Ron would always wonder how on earth he found his way home. Not only because he was so drunk that he could barely remember his own name, but because he didn't know where the other boy had lived. He didn't even know the other boy's name. But he had found his way home, had forgotten his key and his wand wouldn't open the door because of Malfoy's security charms.

Ron hadn't cried since leaving the other boy's flat, and even then, those cries had been muffled and more of pain than this weak, lost sort of crying. He pounded his fist on the door and then fell against it, sobbing and burying his face in his fists.

When Malfoy opened the door, Ron stumbled, falling against him, and somehow the other boy managed to catch him and keep him upright.

"Shit," he mumbled, studying Ron's face critically. "How much did you drink?"

"Too much," Ron mourned, pushing away. "Door was locked." He made his way into the living room and sat carefully on the couch, rubbing his face on the back of his hand.

Malfoy was studying him from the doorway, and had Ron looked, he would have seen that Malfoy's initial distain had changed to concern. "What happened?"

"Nothing. You can leave now." Every word was terribly slurred, but Ron didn't notice.

"Fuck that, what happened?"

Ron's eyes narrowed into slits and he got to his feet, swaying terribly. "You said it wasn't scary."

"I didn't," Malfoy replied. "Of course it's scary. I just pointed out that you were scared."

Considering this for a moment, Ron said, "Well, you said it like you thought I shouldn't be scared!"

"You shouldn't be."

"Fucking hell I shouldn't be!" Ron snarled, clenching his hands into fists.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Ron lied.

Grabbing him by the arms, Malfoy shook him a bit, and spat, "What the fuck happened, Weasley?"

"Nothing happened! Nothing you should care about anyway! You were wrong, I wasn't scared, I wasn't! But… but fuck it if…if…" His face cracked and he started to cry. "Let me go," he whimpered. "I don't… I don't like to be touched."

Malfoy let him go and it was a good thing he did, because Ron fell to his hands and knees and vomited on the floor.

"Fuck," Malfoy mumbled, kneeling beside him, resting one hand on his back. He rolled his eyes a little and waited until Ron had finished.

"I puked," Ron said, sounded stunned.

"I'll clean it up."

He turned his head, eyes narrowed. "You'd clean up my puke?"

Malfoy's lips tightened and he said, "Forget it, someone has to. C'mon, let's get you to bed." He pulled Ron up by his arm and steadied him, leading him to the couch and helping him sit down. He sat beside him, still holding his arm. "Now tell me what happened, Weasley."

Ron looked at him for a long moment and then turned his gaze to the floor, sniffling a bit. "Well," he said, and left it at that.

Nudging him a bit, Malfoy prompted him, "Well?"

"I got drunk."

"Obviously."

"There was this guy…" He licked his lips and whimpered a bit, shaking his head.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "A guy," he said.

"I wasn't scared," Ron told him quickly. "I wasn't scared."

"It's alright," Malfoy replied firmly. Ron thought that was strange. Most people said it like they were trying to convince you that it was, alright. Malfoy said it like you had no choice, it would be alright simply because he had decided it would be. "Did he…"

"Did he what?"

"Rape you?"

And that was the worst part, sort of. He hadn't. Ron whimpered, low in his throat, and, desperate for some sort of comfort, buried his face in Malfoy's chest. "No," he moaned. "He didn't."

"Okay… What happened then?"

"It hurt."

"Ah." A hand touched his shoulder, lightly. "Was he drunk then?"

Ron lifted his head, frowning, his eyes shining with tears. "It only hurts when they're drunk?"

"No," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "It only hurts when they're not careful, which comes from drunkenness."

"…Oh." Ron considered this for a moment, resting his head on Malfoy's shoulder (only because it was there and he was feeling rather sleepy, not because he wanted to). "I cried," he admitted. "I didn't mean to."

The hand on his shoulder moved a little, and Malfoy asked, in a deliberately calm tone, "Did he stop?"

"He didn't notice."

"Oh."

Ron's eyes fluttered a bit. "I wasn't scared though," he whispered. "You were wrong. I wasn't scared."

"I was wrong," Malfoy said agreeably, and probably only because (as with most of his actions that night), he knew that Ron wouldn't remember most of this come morning.

There was a long pause, before Ron said quietly, "I am now, though. I think I'm scared. I don't want that. Not again."

Malfoy sighed and stroked his shoulder a bit. "Sure, love," he said. "Never again."

"Never," Ron echoed, and it was the last thing he said before he passed out, head pillowed on Malfoy's shoulder.

***

If garden gnomes had hammers instead of feet and lived inside Ron's head, that's what it would feel like. He woke up that morning with a herd of hammer-footed garden gnomes running in mad circles inside his skull, there was no other explanation. Except that maybe he'd drunk a bit too much.

Which made more sense, really.

Ron moaned and cracked his eyes opened, squinting at the ceiling. He was asleep, on the couch, and appeared to have survived more or less intact. What the hell had happened?

And then he remembered. Well, bits and pieces, really. Going back to that guy's flat, letting him kiss him and touch him and… and later, turning his head and crying into the pillow because it hurt but he wasn't scared and didn't want the other boy to know that he was scared and hurt and then sneaking away and coming home and… and Malfoy…

He frowned, trying to piece together what had actually happened and what had obviously been a hallucination. The rest of it was clear, why did it all get fuzzy?

Because Malfoy couldn't have taken care of him or soothed him or let him cry all over him, of course. Obviously Ron had been dreaming. That was, sadly, a far less disturbing idea than thinking that Malfoy had done those things.

"Alright, Ron?" He jerked at the sudden voice, and then winced. Ginny had come into the room, looking worried. She pressed a glass into his hand. "I was worried you'd gotten alcohol poisoning or something."

"I'm alright," he moaned. "What is this?" he held up the glass skeptically.

"Hangover potion Malfoy made for you."

"Where… where is he?"

"Kitchen," she said. "Percy came over again, they're discussing what's going on, with William and all that."

Ron drained the potion and instantly felt better. Well, comparatively speaking. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, grimacing. "Ah. So what's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You know. For catching William."

"Oh." She sat beside him and looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure. When I left the kitchen, they were still talking about just keeping me safe." She was quiet for a moment and then said, "You know, Ron, I'm really sorry. I never meant to get you involved in this."

He looked at her and smiled a bit and said, "That's what brothers are for. We'll make sure they don't get to touch you."

"Oh, you're awake," Percy said from the doorway, frowning in a disapproving sort of way. "Mum's not going to be happy when she hears about how drunk you got."

"She wouldn't have to hear about it if you weren't such a snitch," Ginny snapped with a scowl, and Malfoy, strangely, grinned at her over Percy's shoulder.

Ron swallowed, unnerved by the grin. "Umm, yeah, sorry I slept so long. Did you want something?"

"To tell you about the new security measures we're putting in place," Malfoy said, sitting beside Ron so that he was on one side and Ginny on the other, leaving Percy to sit alone across from them.

"We're giving Ginny a pendant that'll transport her directly back here, so even if they do get her, she'll just have to touch that and she'll be alright. Also, we've cast a locater spell on her so we can always find her," Percy told him.

Ginny rolled her eyes but didn't object, and Ron nodded. "Right. Sounds safe. She should be alright. When is all this going to be over?"

"Well, after we ensure that Ginny's safe, we'll start working on just why they want her, and trying to stop them. I'm not sure," Percy admitted. "But with the Ministry's backing, it shouldn't be too long. Especially since You-Know-Who —"

"Voldemort," Malfoy corrected easily, which made Ron somewhat uneasy.

"Precisely," Percy said stiffly, before continuing, "Since Harry killed him back in his seventh year. The leadership of the Death Eaters, understandably, has been disorganized since then. Unless a new leader…" he trailed off, looking at Malfoy nervously, and then finishing, "Unless someone new has begun leading them…?"

Ron frowned and would have said something snappy and defensive on Malfoy's behalf (though he wasn't sure what he meant to say), but Malfoy just smiled in a cold way and said, "You want to know if my father's become their leader? I really wouldn't know."

"Right. Right." Percy said it twice, as if repeating it would make him believe it. Then he shook his head a bit, as if clearing it, and said, "Anyway, this is their first move since Voldemort's fall. We're being understandably cautious until we judge how coordinated a move it is and just what Ginny has to do with anything, but still, it shouldn't take that long."

Ron nodded and squirmed a bit. Malfoy's thigh was somehow pressed against his now, and he was feeling crowded, though the other boy didn't seem to have noticed a thing. "Umm," he said, and all eyes were suddenly on him. "Is that all? Because I feel gross. I mean, I… I need to shower." He swallowed and his face flushed a bit.

Percy's lips tightened. "By all means," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Will you still be here when I get out?" Ron asked, in an effort of politeness, even as he stood up and felt that the corner of his blanket was stuck in the back of his trousers. Before he could react, Malfoy had reached up and tugged the blanket out. That wasn't the troubling part. The troubling part was that his fingers had seemingly touched his… well, surely it was an accident! Surely. Ron shot Malfoy a startled glance and the other boy wasn't even paying attention, so it must have been an accident.

Percy was talking to him and Ron had to force thoughts of Malfoy out of his mind to focus on what he was saying. "—Hermione's coming by later and I promised to meet her."

He blinked. "What?"

For the first time, Percy looked nervous. "I didn't mean to offend when I invited her, Ron, I swear! I just told her that I was coming by today and she asked if I thought it would be alright if she met me here later. She just wanted an excuse to come by, she said you'd never answered her owls asking if she could."

"There was a reason for that," Ron replied stiffly.

Ginny sighed. "Ron, maybe Percy's right. You can't avoid Hermione and Harry forever. Surely whatever happened couldn't have been that bad."

"You're allowed to think that," Ron snapped. "You don't know what happened, and I don't intend for you ever to know what happened, so just forget it. And if I take an extra long shower, you'll know why." He directed his furious gaze at Percy.

"Will it be cold?" Malfoy asked innocently from the couch. Ron's fury faltered a bit and he turned to look at him.

"What?"

"The shower. Will it be cold?"

Exasperated, Ron shrugged. "If the hot water runs out, it very well might be. Why?"

A slow smirk twisted Malfoy's lips, and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Because whenever you get out of the shower, you press the shower off before you turn off the faucet so whenever I go to shower and try turning it on, the shower comes on automatically and I couldn't help but notice that it's always turned all the way cold. Just wondered if you preferred cold showers is all."

Ron blinked, confused. "You frustrate me, Malfoy," he said, almost absently. He'd nearly forgotten that Ginny and Percy were even there, which was quite an accomplishment, considering how furious he was.

"Obviously," Malfoy replied blandly, but his smirk had stretched into a cheeky sort of grin.

"I'm…going to go shower now," Ron said, backing slowly out of the room and still looking confused.

"What's with him?" Percy asked Ginny, but Ron didn't wait to hear his Ginny's reply.

Ron remembered his rage in the shower. How dare Percy tell Hermione she could come over here? He had worked hard, isolating himself from everyone, and in the last week, it had all fallen apart. First Ginny and Malfoy, and then all his brother barging in, and now Hermione? He couldn't stand it. There were reasons he had pulled away from all of them, damned important ones. Just because they didn't know the reasons (and that was how he intended it to stay), didn't mean that they could blatantly make choices that affected him as if his own free will didn't matter anymore.

He didn't want to see Hermione! He had intended never to see her again. What must she think of him now? If Harry had told her…

Ron moaned and turned off the shower, carefully moving the dial to warm, and wrapping himself in a towel.

Of course, she couldn't be too horrified, given the amount of times she'd owled begging him to see her, reply to her owl, talk to her. But she probably wanted to wait until she saw him in person before showing her disgust. He was even surprised she didn't immediately stop seeing Percy. They'd only been dating a year, after all. And who would want to marry into a family that included someone like Ron? It was for her own good that he had pulled away. So she could forget he existed. He didn't want to break up Percy and Hermione.

But she was coming over. Possibly here already. And Ron couldn't stay in the bathroom forever.

That thought was made all the more obvious when there came a knock on the door. "Ron? It's Ginny. Hermione's here, she's waiting downstairs with Percy. She says she's not leaving until you come and see her. You know how stubborn she can be."

He did, he remembered. Ron sighed. "I can't," he said quietly. Ginny mumbled something and walked away.

Still wrapped in his towel, Ron let himself out of the bathroom and went into his bedroom. Most of his clothes were still there, and he needed something clean.

Malfoy was there, sprawled on his bed, and Ron stumbled to a stop in the doorway with a squeak.

"What are you doing?"

Shrugging, Malfoy replied, "No offence, but I wasn't that keen on staying down there with your brother and Granger holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes."

"Ah. Umm. I'm not dressed."

"I noticed."

He waited for Malfoy to move, close his eyes, leave, anything. Malfoy didn't, and Ron cleared his throat. "Right then, I'll just get my clothes…"

When Malfoy didn't reply, Ron took that for permission to enter the room, though why he required permission to enter his own room, he still didn't know. He dug through the closet, clinging to his towel, and pulled out a jumper and a pair of jeans. He got some knickers from the dresser, and then glanced at Malfoy. Gray eyes were trained on him, and Malfoy looked rather distantly interested.

Clearing his throat, Ron said, "Close your eyes or get out, Malfoy, I'm not a floor show." Despite the bold words, his pitch rose at the last word and made it sound like a nervous question. Malfoy smirked and obligingly closed his eyes.

Dressing faster than he ever had, Ron tossed his towel aside and jerked his clothes on. When he was fully clothed, he sat on the edge of his bed. "I'm decent," he said.

"That's questionable," Malfoy replied, opening his eyes. "What the hell are you still doing in here?"

"It's my bedroom."

"That, too, is questionable, given that I'm staying here."

"I wanted to talk…"

"About what?"

"Last night."

Now Malfoy looked stern, and he sat up. "That was an incredibly stupid thing you did, Weasley."

Shifting embarrassedly, Ron shrugged. "Yeah. I know that now."

"I don't think you know how stupid. It's not safe, you know, picking up random guys at pubs and shagging them, not even if you're trying to prove a point to me."

Feeling a bit stung, Ron replied, "I didn't just… not to prove a point to you…"

"Then why?"

"I don't know, to prove a point to myself."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Whatever you think it was, Weasley, it was still stupid. Anything could have happened. You could have been hurt or caught something or any number of things."

Ron's cheeks were turning pink and he didn't remind Malfoy that it had hurt. It didn't seem worth bringing up. "Yeah, well, don't worry. It'll never happen again."

"And that's supposed to make it better? The fact that you're not ever…" He trailed off, looking frustrated. "And I wasn't worrying! I don't worry. Not over the likes of you. It was just stupid. Just to prove you weren't afraid. Well, if you weren't before, you certainly are now, and I will not be held responsible for that!"

"Malfoy, what are you going on about?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes. "I swear, sometimes you go all cryptic just to drive me mad."

"Never fucking mind. Just forget it."

"But —"

"Why have you been avoiding Granger?" It was asked challengingly and Ron knew it was a warning of sorts. Malfoy didn't want to answer Ron's question and was reciprocating by asking one he knew Ron didn't want to answer either.

"Because I don't want to talk to her," Ron said stiffly.

"Why?"

"None of your business, really."

Malfoy shrugged lazily and closed his eyes. "Doesn't matter to me, Weasley."

Annoyed and not sure why, Ron stood up. "Fine. I don't care."

"Good."

"Good."

They nodded at each other, looking stubborn and a little perplexed as to what exactly they were being stubborn about.

To make his point, though he wasn't sure what that was, Ron nodded again and swept out the door, closing it behind him with a soft snap.

Hermione was standing at the end of the hall and Ron panicked, twisting the knob and turning to dash back in.

"Ron," she said severely, walking forward and snatching his arm, tugging him firmly away from the door. "Don't run from me again."

Her tone only served to solidify the fear that Harry had told her what had happened and that she loathed him. "Let me go," he cried stubbornly.

"Ron. Ron, stop it." She sounded different now, like she was on the verge of tears, and that made him pause and dart a swift, nervous glance at her. She was about to cry. "Please, Ron, just talk to me? I don't understand why you don't want to be my friend anymore."

Striving to be honest and yet not say anything to incriminate himself, Ron said desperately, "It's not that. I didn't think you wanted to be my friend, Hermione."

She laughed tearfully. "That's why I owled so many times, right? Because I didn't want to be your friend?"

"Well." He shifted uncomfortably. "You stopped owling. Harry must have told you and you stopped."

She looked confused. "I stopped because you never replied. Even I can see a lost cause when it's staring me in the face, Ron. What must Harry've told me? I haven't seen him since before the last time I saw you. We've owled, of course, but he's been away so often with Ministry business…"

Ron was blinking back tears. That was why she still wanted to see him then. Harry hadn't told her what had happened. He crushed her into a sudden hug and whispered into her hair, "Nothing, forget it, it doesn't matter."

"What… what…" she pushed away, smiling in a concerned sort of way. "What doesn't matter? Why are you crying, Ron?"

"I'm not," he said, grinning at her. He had missed her. And maybe, if Harry hadn't told her yet, he didn't plan to. Maybe it was all alright. "I missed you."

She sighed and smiled at him, letting all her questions go for the moment and falling back into his hug, resting her head on his shoulder. "I've missed you too, Ron. We both have, Harry and I."

He didn't reply. He didn't want to talk of Harry just yet, and probably not ever. But he hadn't lost Hermione, and that's all he wanted to think of just now.

Popping her head up the stairs, Ginny grinned. "Brilliant!" she cried. "It got so quiet, Percy and I had figured you had either killed each other, or were shagging somewhere."

Ron was blushing a fiery red and Hermione shot Ginny an exasperated look.

***

"It just feels like we should be doing something," Ron said.

Hermione had left with Percy earlier, and Ron, Malfoy, and Ginny were sitting together in the kitchen.

Malfoy glanced up from the piece of toast he'd been shredding. "It's not our job to do anything. It's my job to keep your sister safe, her job to obey me, and your job to go about life as normal."

Rolling his eyes, Ron replied, "Oh yes, because this is so normal. Sitting around in my kitchen with Draco Malfoy and my baby sister."

"Well, what's normal then?" Malfoy asked, shrugging.

"Getting sotted and lazing about?" Ginny asked sweetly, and Ron shot her a hard glare.

"Shut up, Gin," he growled, though he didn't bother to deny it. He didn't have a job. In fact, before Ginny and Malfoy moved in, it was quite normal for him not to see another living person, except one day a week, when his mum sent someone to check on him. There was no normal for Ron, not now that Ginny and Malfoy had destroyed it.

"Well, I don't suggest doing that," Malfoy snorted. "It's far too early in the afternoon for alcohol. You should go out for a bit. Run some errands." He perked up at that thought. "Oh, I know! I've got a few things you could do for me, while you're out!"

Ron hadn't said he was going out, but that didn't seem to matter. Twenty minutes later, he was pushed out the door, holding two lists of errands (one from Malfoy and one from Ginny). Still a little startled at being ejected so suddenly from his house, he stood on his front step a moment and blinked.

"Right," he said, though no one was there to hear. "I'll just… be back later, yeah?"

But Malfoy had already closed the door.

***

The next few days fell into a rather anticlimactic routine at Ron's house. Since neither Malfoy nor Ginny could safely leave the house, they kept giving Ron lists of errands and such to get him out of the house. He rather nervously worried that it was just a cheap excuse to get him out of the way so they could shag, and had to keep telling himself that he didn't care, even if they did. Not that they had shown any indications of attraction for one another. But with Malfoy, you never could tell.

He didn't mind the errands. It was an excuse to get out, whereas before he had had so many to stay in. By the time three days had passed, however, he looked forward to the lists and directions on what to do, where to go. It was almost like having a life again, only it was all prearranged. Pick up these food products. Drop this off at the cleaners. Take this much out of my Gringotts account. Send this letter to Mum.

It was a safety net, those lists of directions. He never had to think ‘what should I do now', he just had to check the lists, follow them, cross them off when he was done, and then return home.

There were no attacks on his home, no more mysterious arrows, and his brothers only dropped by every few days to check on them. He was growing rather used to Ginny and Malfoy sharing his home, having people to talk to (even if it was only to bicker and fight).

Still, Ron wasn't quite comfortable with being out in town, always afraid of who he'd run into and that they'd take one look at him and somehow know what he'd done the other night, with that boy. Or that he'd even bump into him or something, which was more horrible a thought than he could bear.

He liked being at home, when things were quiet. Which was mainly when Ginny was sleeping and Malfoy was showering, or something like that. Then he could relax and daydream or have a drink alone, like he used to. Even if that had lost some of its appeal, oddly.

It was a week after Ron's first errand trip about Hogsmeade when things started getting weird again. Not that they had ever really gotten normal again, since Malfoy and Ginny moved in. But he had grown accustomed and redefined his view of normal. Normal was fighting Ginny for the shower, listening to Malfoy berate his stock of food, and sleeping on the couch. Or at least, for a relatively peaceful week, it was. He had adapted, with as much grace as he could muster.

Then, things shifted even from that strange routine, and started getting stranger.

It started with a note at the bottom of Malfoy's list of errands, a note that read ‘pick up book Dead and Beyond; Necromancer's Guide To The Galaxy from my flat'. Mildly disgruntled at having his errands suddenly extended to personal runs to Malfoy's flat, Ron nonetheless faithfully followed the directions Malfoy had included on the list. The flat was across town from his own, and the book was right where the note had described. The weirdness grew even weirder when he was leaving the flat, however, and was attacked by three men wearing black hoods and enamel masks. Death Eaters, his mind reminded him numbly, even as all motor functions shut down as he stared in terror at them. They threatened but he didn't understand a word they said (his mind was operating on the ‘Fight or Flight' level, but given that he remembered only how to mentally chant Run! and forgot how to work his legs, that wasn't working out too well for him). The consequences were rather dire, but swift, and the next thing he knew, Ron was flat on his back, stunned, as they tore the book from his hand and Apparated.

They left his stunned body in the back garden, and the last thing Ron was aware of before he lost consciousness was the wetness from the ground soaking through the back of his shirt.

It was Malfoy who came looking for him, breaking the curse and waking him up. "Weasley," he called. "What happened?"

"Mmmh?" Ron replied, blinking sleepily.

Impatiently, Malfoy snapped, "Are you hurt? What happened? Where's the book?"

"Book? What book? Oh. Oh that book."

Malfoy helped him sit up, looking irritated and worried. "Yes, that book. Where is it?"

Ron was hardly up to answering, however, he could barely even remember his own name, let alone what had happened. A sudden thought made him panic, however, and he said, "If you're here, who's guarding Ginny?"

"When you didn't return, we grew worried and I came looking for you. She should be alright, I haven't been gone long, but we should get back. Where's the book?"

Annoyed that Malfoy was far more interested in the stupid book than Ron's welfare, he snapped, "Oh, I don't know. I was too busy being cursed to pay much attention to your stupid book."

Malfoy swore grimly and then shook his head. "Never mind," he said. "We'd best get back."

***

Ginny cooed over Ron after hearing of the attack, fixing him tea and fussing over him which, if Ron were being honest with himself, he rather liked. He hadn't had anyone to fuss over him in quite some time. While he was being cared for, he could hear Malfoy from the next room having an animated (loud) conversation with a ministry head in the fireplace. He couldn't make out the words, but it sounded quite violent, and if floating heads in the fireplace could feel pain and bleed, he would have been quite put out worrying about bloodstains in his carpet.

As it was, the tea had long since turned cold and Ginny long since determined that Ron's life had never been in danger by the time Malfoy came out of the other room, looking flushed and furious. It made his eyes sparkle, Ron decided, but it was only due to the strange and floaty haze still affecting him from being stunned.

"What was that all about?" Ginny asked, nervously.

"Nothing. Just business," Malfoy replied, too quickly. There was a strange glance passed between them, and Ron squirmed a bit, suddenly uncomfortable.

"What?" he said, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Malfoy glanced at him and then Ginny and back again. He shrugged and said, "Just trying to figure out why the Ministry didn't see fit to inform me that my flat was being watched."

"By the men who attacked me," Ron realized.

"Yes."

"But Malfoy, why would anyone be watching out for you?" Ron said with a puzzled frown. "I thought they were after Ginny."

The reply came too slowly for Ron's piece of mind. "Well, I suspect because they know I'm watching out for her," Malfoy explained. "And I wanted that book because I think I know what they want your sister for and that book would have explained it more fully. They were aware that I had it, as I stole it from my father, and they probably didn't want me to get it."

"And they didn't just go into your flat and take it?" Ron's eyes were very narrow and he was trying to translate the furtive looks Ginny was tossing at Malfoy into something he could understand, but it wasn't working out too well.

"Because it's charmed so only people with permission can enter, of course," Malfoy scoffed. "Honestly, Weasley."

"So they took the book that would tell you why they wanted Ginny and now we still don't know what they need her for and how to save her? That's why you were shouting, right?"

Ginny shot another look at Malfoy. Ron's eyes narrowed further. Malfoy smiled in a grim sort of way. "I could find that information out through other means, the Ministry is not without its own library of books like that. No, Weasley, I was shouting because they didn't tell me and you could have been killed."

There was a pause, and then, quietly, "Oh."

Ginny's face was slowly turning pink and she looked like she was about to burst. "Sod it, Malfoy!" she cried finally. And then, without another word, she stomped from the room.

Ron blinked at Malfoy and then frowned at Ginny's back. It was all getting far too complicated for him, and he felt a migraine coming on. Excusing himself weakly, he hurried up the stairs to hide in the dark bathroom and to escape the mind-numbing complications that had entered his life with Malfoy and Ginny. He knew when his sister was lying to him, and this was one of those times. She had always been far too transparent, and he didn't even want to hazard a guess as to what she knew but was keeping from him.

***

A few days passed, during which time Ron made many trips to the public library on a quest to locate various books for Malfoy. Ginny spent most of her time in the guest room, hiding, from Ron or Malfoy, Ron didn't know, and Malfoy sat for hours at a time at the kitchen table, leafing his way through piles and piles of books. From time to time, Ron attempted to make conversation, but neither were feeling very conversational, and most of the time, when Ron wasn't out on errands, he sat alone in the main room and stared blankly out the window, wishing that his stash of firewhiskey hadn't mysteriously gone missing a few days before (he would have confronted Malfoy or Ginny about this but felt it would require too much energy, considering both were snappy and irritable). In fact, except for the missing alcohol, things had pretty much reverted to exactly the way they had been before Malfoy and Ginny had moved in. It should please him, this peace and quiet, but it did anything but. Instead, he was constantly on edge, nervous, and lonelier than ever.

Finally, unable to stand anymore of the forced silences or stilted conversations, Ron grabbed his cloak one night and announced tersely, "I'm going out."

Malfoy glanced up from his books. "Oh?" he said. "Where?" He looked suspicious.

"I don't know. Out."

It was a misty, overcast night, and his hair was soaked and plastered to his scalp by the time he found somewhere to go, which ended up being a strange, jazzy club halfway across town. It was just as he was about to go inside that he noticed someone hurrying down the road in the direction he had come, and he turned. It was a woman, a perfect woman: tall, slender, long blonde hair, blue eyes, short skirt, tight top, high, lace-up boots. All of which Ron's mind mentally took in and shelved away in some recess of his mind that really didn't give a damn.

"Hi," she said breathlessly, smiling. His knees should have gone weak at such a perfect smile, but he was still standing and unmoved. Quite frankly, that pissed him off. If he was normal, he'd be swooning at her perfect feet in her perfect boots.

He smiled back. "Hello."

He held the door open and she swept by and left a soft cloud of some floral scene behind her. Ron scowled and followed her in.

Sultry jazz music washed over him, along with clouds of smoke and darkness. The woman he'd followed in smiled at him over her shoulder. "Are you meeting someone?"

"No," he said.

"Me either."

There was a long pause, and it took a minute for Ron to realize she was waiting for him to offer to buy her a drink. She shifted awkwardly on the balls of her feet and he blinked. "Oh, umm, can I get you something?"

It was easy after that, to find himself somehow herded into sitting with her, drinking with her (though he didn't have very much. He was feeling extremely uncomfortable and kept forgetting to take sips of his own drink. Girls had that affect on him. No wonder he didn't like them.).

Hours passed, she talked and talked and her voice was rich like warm honey and, despite himself, Ron felt himself relaxing into the soft timbre of it, though for the life of him, he'd never remember what she had talked about all night.

She had said her name was Irelynn, that much he remembered, and when she stood up suddenly and picked up her coat, he'd gotten to his feet because it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

"Walk me home?" she'd asked, and Ron had agreed, because it was late and dark and certainly no place for a lady alone.

It was only a while later, when she slipped her hand into his and turned to say something, her chest brushing his arm, that Ron began to forget the warm, whiskey-like comfort he'd found in her voice. Uncomfortable, he'd stammered, "Um, what?"

"I said," she repeated, leaning forward, lips brushing his ear. "I had a lovely time."

"Oh."

She giggled and the next thing he knew, her tongue was tracing the curves and hollows of his ear and he shivered. "Umm, wait," he whimpered, his hands sliding up to her arms, trying to push her away, but it was like trying to push a wave of water off, and his hands slipped and were unable to find a handhold.

She moaned and pulled away, the moan whispering against his lips, and grabbed his hand, tugging him down the street a block and up a few steps, before spinning him and slamming him against a door.

His door. He blinked as she plastered herself against him (lips on his, legs between his, hands everywhere) and wondered frantically how he came to be pinned against his own door with a woman all over him. Not just any woman, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen who, though he couldn't care one way or the other, would usually never give him the time of day.

He kept trying to talk, to get his breath, to stop this, but he could barely breathe, barely think, and his hand wrapped around the doorknob, his doorknob, and he desperately tried to figure out how she'd known which house was his.

Her hand pressed over his, turned it, the door opened a crack. "Invite me in," she whispered.

Ron's eyes flew open and Malfoy's security charms were suddenly so prevalent in his mind that it was as if the boy were standing right there on the porch, smirking as he tried fighting off the advances of a gorgeous woman.

Perfect excuse, that. "I'm sorry," he said breathlessly. "I can't…"

There was a hand fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers now, and she pressed her chest against his. "Please, Ron? I need you."

He frowned, trying to gently push her back. "I can't. Isn't safe. Malfoy would —"

"Fuck Malfoy!" she snarled, and Ron felt grudgingly offended.

"You don't even know him," he said. She was biting his neck rather hard. "Hey. Hey, stop. Get off."

"Invite me in."

She was being insistent and Ron was getting more and more nervous. "No."

Pulling back, Irelynn pouted. "No?"

"I can't."

"Well then, fuck you too."

What happened next seemed all at once too fast to register and agonizingly slow. There was a knife in her fist and her eyes were staring into his coldly. With one snake-like movement, she shoved the blade into his stomach up to the hilt and then pulled it out, wiping the blade on her trousers and then hissing, "Tell Malfoy his father says hello."

With that, she released the doorknob and shoved him into the house.

He was clutching his stomach, bent over, and gasping like a fish out of water, still trying to understand what had happened. The pain was a distant thing, extreme but seemingly removed from him. Warm blood was soaking through his clothing, coating his hands, and he could barely breathe.

His thought process was slowing down as he grew dizzy from blood loss, and he stumbled a few steps, into the living room. Malfoy was sitting there on the couch with a book (one of the ones Ron had taken out of the library for him); he'd waited up for him.

"Weasley," he sneered. "You reek, and that's strange, it's female perfume. Maybe I was wrong about you."

Ron staggered a bit and moaned. "Malfoy," he whimpered, swaying dizzily.

"Oh, come on, Weasley, don't lets make this vomiting thing a regular habit. How much did you drink?" Malfoy was on his feet now, sneering scornfully at Ron, who was trying to remember what it is he was supposed to be saying.

"Your father —" he said through gritted teeth. He licked his lips that were suddenly dry and burning.

"What?" Malfoy's eyes were sharper now, but it didn't matter, Ron was losing blood fast and he could no longer remember how to form complete sentences. With a weak, pained moan, he let his hands fall away from his bleeding stomach and reached one towards Malfoy, grabbing his hand. His grip slipped, however. All the blood made it hard to hold on to anything, and he whimpered as he fell to his knees, the bleeding like a red tide now that could not be restrained.

"Weasley? Weasley! Oh fuck, Ron, what the fuck —" Malfoy was kneeling beside him, pale, panicked, and Ron smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way before he let his eyes close, confident that Malfoy would save him. And if he couldn't, at least Ron would get to die in someone's arms, if only Malfoy. Maybe especially Malfoy. He couldn't remember anymore.

# Chapter 04

Unbecoming  
By Cinnamon  


Chapter Four

Forever seemed to pass, filled with hazy dreams intermixed with faint traces of what could only be reality (Ginny sobbing, Malfoy shouting, and more pain), and Ron drifted on the waves of pain-inspired fever.

It was rather what he expected flying too high would be like. Brooms came equipped with a safety feature which did not allow them to be flown too high (though the ‘safety zone’ well exceeded any height Quidditch Balls could reach). If that safety zone were breached, the air would be too thin to breathe, causing the blood to react, massive headaches and such. Rather like a diver who’d been pulled out of the water too fast for his body to adjust. There were rolling waves of pain combined with lancing agony whenever he breathed too deeply. And sometimes the pain would lift him to a crest and for one startling, crystalline moment, he would have a split second of lucidity. The punishment for such seconds was extreme however, and it was not long before his throat was raw from screaming at the waves of sparkling agony.

It was easier, then, to push himself downwards, down, down, down, to where it did not hurt, to where there were no teasing lights of reality to beckon and hurt.

There was something soothing about reality though, something soft and bittersweet that stung with a strange gentleness that called to him, that he craved. Something that felt like feathers brushing over his skin and light fingers running through his hair and something that rang like a strange, almost discordant melody in his ear.

It was, in the end, this strange ethereal something that called to him when reality hurt nearly too much to bear. This elusive sweet bitterness that soothed his ravaged throat and healed his mind enough to bear the pain. It was yearning to know the source of that song echoing in his mind that led Ron to open his eyes.

Harry was sitting in a chair at Ron’s bedside, his solemn green eyes fixed on Ron’s face as if he’d just willed him back from the dead.

“Ron,” he said.

“Go away,” Ron moaned in reply. “Oh god, oh god, please go away.” It all came out quite raspy and quiet, he was barely audible at all, and his throat so rough that each syllable melted into the next, so it was quite understandable when Harry didn’t comprehend a word.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, taking Ron’s hand, stroking his hair off his forehead. His hands were rough and Ron shrank away, closing his eyes and whimpering.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Ginny suddenly chanted from the doorway, sounding like a cracked-up Father Christmas. “Is he awake, Harry? Is he?”

“I’m not sure if the fever’s broken,” Harry told her, not glancing at Ron. “He… he won’t let me touch him.”

“Of course not,” Ginny said, sweeping into the room and pulling Harry out by the arm. “You know what he’s like. Besides, he’s probably terribly frightened.”

She was cooing, stroking Ron’s arm and forehead, peering into his eyes. He was terrified, not of the bandages around his middle, nor the woozy fever, but of Harry. He hadn’t seen Harry in forever, and had never intended to see him again.

“Hush, Ron,” Ginny whispered. “You’re alright. Everything’s fine, we’ve been taking good care of you.” She gave him a sip of water from a goblet, and he heard Harry curse softy and close the door as he left. Relaxing a little, Ron closed his eyes, water dribbling down his chin. “Malfoy said you’d be a bit disoriented, he had to give you a strong potion to make the blood clot faster, it’s taken days…” She bit her lip. “We were so worried. He could heal the wound, but he said you’d lost so much blood that it may be too late.”

He opened his eyes and his lids scraped like sandpaper over them. “What happened?” he whispered.

“You came home bleeding, you’d been stabbed, and Malfoy was the only one who was awake. He carried you into your room and tore off your clothes —” Despite everything, Ron’s body felt infused with heat at that comment. “He gave you the blood clotting potion and while that slowed the bleeding, we cleaned away all the excess blood, and he healed the wound. There was internal damage that the healing spell didn’t touch, because the potion was slowly mending the torn flesh inside and he didn’t want to touch it with magic until that was done. He said… said it was painful, so we’ve been keeping you sedated with other potions till now.”

Licking starched lips, Ron asked, “Where’s Malfoy?”

“He’s gone, called Harry all the way from Spain to protect us while he went to do some business.”

That stung, that acknowledgement that Malfoy hadn’t cared enough to stick around, and Ron’s bitterness must have shown on his face. Ginny quickly took his hand and leaned close. “He was here every night until he was sure you were mending, that you’d be alright,” she whispered. “He spoke to you all through the night, bathing your face and holding your hand. It was the strangest thing, Ron. I told him you don’t like to be touched, I told him, but he just told me that I didn’t understand.”

“You don’t.” It was hollow, stunned, but still, Ginny caught it.

“What?”

“I don’t want Harry in here.”

“But Ron —”

“I can’t.” His voice cracked. “Don’t let anyone in. I don’t want to see anyone. Just you, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.” She kissed his cheek and stroked his forehead until he fell back to sleep.

***

He supposed it was rather naïve of him to believe that Ginny would be able to keep Malfoy out if the other boy decided that he wanted to see Ron, but he’d honestly not thought that Malfoy would want to see him. When he was woken up in the middle of the night because he felt someone watching him, Ron thought it was his imagination. The fever was still affecting him, and he whimpered a bit, shifting against the burning sensation under his skin.

“Are you alright?” It hardly even sounded like Malfoy, that harsh, rough whisper, and Ron stiffened.

“Malfoy?” he asked shakily.

Malfoy was there suddenly, beside his bed. “Yeah. I was sitting by the window, I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I w-wasn’t.”

“Does it hurt?” As he spoke, Malfoy’s hands were pulling Ron’s blanket back and pushing his shirt up. Hands suddenly on his bare stomach stole Ron’s breath and he couldn’t form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. The curtain was open a crack and moonlight fell across the bed, making his skin seem paler even than normal, and Malfoy’s hands almost glowed. He pulled the bandages away and Ron sucked in a startled breath, trying to flinch away from his hands, nervously sitting up and trying to shift out of reach. Malfoy grabbed his wrist and looked up at him briefly. “Stop it. Hold still.”

There was a faint scar on his stomach where the knife had punctured his skin, and Malfoy traced it lightly, frowning. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Because I was trying so hard to stop the bleeding, I didn’t heal the wound in time to prevent scarring…”

“It’s-It’s alright.”

Malfoy leaned back, his hands slipping away, and Ron sighed. “Do you remember what happened?” Malfoy asked him.

“I wasn’t drunk,” Ron quickly reassured him. “I wasn’t.”

“It’s alright.” Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when Malfoy took his hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “Tell me what happened.”

He told Malfoy about the girl and everything that had happened, wishing desperately that he could see Malfoy’s face as he spoke. After he finished, there was a long moment of silence and then Malfoy said, “I know her. She works for my father.”

Growing sleepy again, Ron turned onto his side, laced his fingers with Malfoy’s. and slipped one arm under his head. “Your father?” he asked, frowning. “Why would she have come after me?”

“Probably wanted in,” was Malfoy’s short reply. Then he grinned, Ron could hear it in his voice. “Father probably thought he could send her to seduce her way in. If he ever paid attention, he’d have known to send a boy.”

Ron sat up so fast that his head swam. “What?”

“Shh, calm down,” Malfoy soothed, stroking his arm and nudging him until Ron was lying back again, though stiffly. “I was teasing. You’re as straight and heterosexual as can be, Weasley.”

“Damn right I am,” Ron grumbled, shivering at Malfoy’s touch. He relaxed as Malfoy kept touching his arm, his eyelids fluttering sleepily.

“Or at least, as straight as I am,” Malfoy said, after a moment.

Ron turned his head and squinted suspiciously at him in the darkness. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, though his voice was hazy with sleep and the words came out slurred.

“Nothing,” Malfoy reassured him, and he was smiling.

Impulsively, warmed by that smile and confident in his sleepiness, Ron leaned forward into the shadows and kissed Malfoy on the lips. It was awkward and brief and he’d never have done it had he been coherent, but he had a brief moment of satisfaction at the surprised way Malfoy's breath seemed to catch in his throat before he let himself drift back to sleep.

***

When Ron woke up the next morning, he was feeling a good deal better, and got out of bed. Sunlight spilled into his bedroom when he opened the curtains and he hummed softly as he rummaged through his wardrobe for something to wear. Something nice. Why how he looked mattered, he didn’t know. But he was happily going through all his robes when the door opened and Harry peered in nervously.

Ron went cold. He’d forgotten all about Harry’s presence.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, startling Harry, who hadn’t seen him there.

“Oh, Ron, you’re awake.” He smiled in relief.

“No, really. You should go. I’m… I’m not dressed.” Ron was decently clothed in cotton pajamas and Harry had seen him thousands of times in his pajamas, but Ron didn’t care.

“Ron, we need to talk.”

Slamming the door to his wardrobe shut, Ron snapped, “I do not want to talk, I’ve got nothing to say, especially not to you, now bugger off!” Harry looked hurt and Ron swallowed down the lump that rose to his throat. “Please,” he whispered. “Harry, I can’t…”

“Alright. Not now, then. But soon. We’ve got to talk.” Before Ron could protest, Harry continued quickly, “Draco wanted me to tell you that you’re not to leave the house and if you try, I’m to brain you with a rock.”

Ron blinked, the words scarcely registering. “Draco?” he repeated, like the name was alien to him.

“Yeah. You know. Draco. Malfoy.”

“Malfoy. Right… Brain me with a rock?” He started getting indignant.

Harry grinned. “Irritating, isn’t he? Those were his exact words, too.”

“A sodding rock.” He scowled.

“He said you’d get sulky too, it was strange. Because you did. And he knows you well enough to tell that.” Harry was frowning thoughtfully and Ron didn’t know what to say.

“I…I’m not dressed.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Harry smiled apologetically. “We’ll talk. When you’re decent.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Ron stared at it for a long moment and then flopped back on his bed, scowling. “That sounds like a threat,” he mumbled, turning to stare longingly out the window, fanciful thoughts of climbing out it and escaping flitting through his mind. He sighed and went back to the wardrobe to find something nice to wear, deciding that risking being brained by a rock just wasn’t worth it.

***

“So…” Ginny said, glancing from Harry to Ron and back again. The tension was so thick that even she could feel it. “Is anybody hungry? I’ll go make sandwiches. Yes. Umm. Excuse me.” She hurried from the room and Ron looked over his shoulder at Harry and then back out the window. He was tense and nervous and wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Ron.”

He jumped when Harry spoke, and spun around. “When’s Malfoy getting back?” he asked, nervous chatter falling erratically from his lips. “Soon, I hope. I mean, then you can leave, right?”

“He said he’d be back later tonight,” Harry said, frowning. “Are you and he…” he trailed off delicately.

Ron cocked his head and bit his lip. “Are we what?” he asked.

“Lovers.”

“What? No! God no! He’s just… we’re just… he only… protects Ginny and… and… What sort of question is that to ask me?” he crossed his arms over his chest, face flaming, and wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

“Sorry!” Harry cried, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just… you’re always asking about him, and he was so protective of you, and —”

“He- he was protective of me?”

Harry smirked. “I swear, Ron, it was the saddest thing, I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“You’ve seen…him? I mean…” Flustered, Ron shook his head. “Since Hogwarts?”

“Well, yeah, we were partners. We worked together on assignments and stuff.”

Feeling inexplicably jealous, Ron scowled. “Oh. Well, we’re not. Not that it’s any of your business. Where do you get off, asking me something like that, anyway? It’s not like I’m… I’m gay or anything.”

“Ron. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Very.”

He scowled. “Shut up. You think I don’t remember?”

Ron leapt to his feet, backing towards the door and stammering, “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You honestly don’t remember?” Harry frowned, getting to his feet. Ron backed up even more, putting a large distance between them. “You were really drunk…” He still looked uncertain.

“I don’t remember a thing!” Ron cried wildly. “Nothing! Blank slate and all that… Erm…”

“Ron.”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

“What the sodding hell are you doing out of bed?” Malfoy was there suddenly, growling, and Ron glanced from him (his face flushed when he remembered kissing Malfoy the night before) to Harry and back again, breathing heavily in a mad panic.

“Nothing…nothing…” he chanted, backing down the hall. “Nothing. Shut up. Oh fuck.” And then, because he was feeling suddenly weak and dizzy and expected the floor to open up and swallow him at any moment, Ron wailed once in distress and then bolted up the stairs.

“What did you do to him?” he heard both Malfoy and Harry hiss at the same time.

He fled into his bedroom, which Malfoy had once again given up for him, and leapt onto the bed, burrowing under the covers and burying his head in his pillow, shaking like a leaf. It was just too much, dealing with Malfoy and Harry at the same time.

Not to mention that he was completely mortified by the way he’d just run like a little girl from them both.

He wondered if anyone had invented a charm to make the floor open up and randomly swallow people. He’d have to owl Hermione about that one, that was for sure.

Whimpering a little, he didn’t hear the door open and close quietly, and he was completely startled when Malfoy called his name.

“Go away,” he moaned, voice muffled by the pillow.

“I can’t,” Malfoy replied. “Your sister is beside herself thinking you lost your mind because of that fever of yours, and I’m beginning to think the same. What the hell was that about?”

“You shouldn’t have let him in here,” Ron mumbled.

“Potter?”

“Who else?”

There was a pause, and then the bed dipped a little as Malfoy sat on the edge. “Ahh. Well, someone had to guard Ginny while I was off trying to figure out what the hell had happened to you.”

Ron shifted and squirmed until his head popped out of the blankets, and he squinted at Malfoy. “That was completely embarrassing, for the record. I nearly fainted down there. Bloody mortifying.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and patted Ron’s knee. “Are you always this high-strung?” he asked, smirking. “Because honestly, if you are, it’s a miracle you’ve survived this long without having a heart attack or something.”

“Not always,” Ron said stiffly. “Only since you moved in.”

“Well, you should relax more. What happened down there, anyway?”

“Harry was…” Ron let his head sink back onto the pillow. “Just talking.”

“About what?” As he spoke, Malfoy’s hand slip up higher, and Ron lifted his head and shot him a suspicious look.

“Your hand is on my arse, Malfoy. You sure you don’t already know?”

Blinking, Malfoy laughed and then let his hand drop away. “I see,” he said, still snickering. “And what does he know about it?”

Ron’s mouth twitched a little and then he moaned, burying his head under the blanket again. He didn’t reply, and after a moment, Malfoy poked him.

“Hey. Answer me, damn it.”

Grunting, Ron shrugged and then said in a low, bitter voice, “I was drunk and I was so scared and nervous and confused because Harry was… my friend and I… was drunk…”

“That’s not all that coherent, try again.”

Ron sat up suddenly, glaring at Malfoy hatefully. “I can’t help it! I tried, I fucking tried, but it won’t go away and it’s not right and I was drunk and I… I… think I….liked Harry. I mean, I wanted to… well, I just…wanted… I don’t know. I was drunk and he was drunk and I thought it would be okay and I… kissed him.” Ron cleared his throat and felt his eyes stinging with tears. He shot Malfoy a pleading look and asked, “Is that… is that okay?”

Malfoy studied his face for a long moment, and Ron wondered almost distantly how the other boy had gotten so close. “It’s fine,” Malfoy said soothingly, and he reached out and touched Ron’s face, thumb brushing the tears that had gathered on Ron’s lower eyelashes. “It’s alright, Weasley,” he said again.

“What… what are you doing?” Ron whispered, shaking and longing to pull away or lean closer but unable to decide what was right.

“You think too much,” Malfoy chided, and then he brushed his lips over Ron’s lightly.

It was rather like getting an electric shock, Ron decided rather bemusedly, his eyes still closed after Malfoy pulled away, his breath still held in his throat. Rather sudden and stinging and a little painful and—

Before he could finish that thought, Malfoy kissed him again, a different sort of kiss. His lips were parted slightly and his tongue brushed Ron’s lower lip, just lightly, almost teasingly. Ron pulled back with a whimper, his eyes flying open.

“M-Malfoy,” he stammered. “What the hell are you doing?”

Malfoy was grinning at him, hand still cupping his cheek. He slid it back a bit, around so that his fingers were buried in Ron’s hair, and he pulled Ron forward, causing their lips crashed together. Before Ron could pull away, Malfoy had shifted closer, and his tongue was there again, gently touching Ron’s lips.

Moaning softly, either from fear or disgust (but probably not), Ron let his mouth open the tiniest bit and Malfoy smiled and bit his lower lip approvingly.

Ron was melting, and it was a terribly frightening thing, melting into Draco Malfoy of all people. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind when Ron had to practically crawl into his lap to keep from losing all control and falling off the bed. In fact, Malfoy seemed to rather like it.

And he would, Ron thought rather sulkily, who was trembling worse than ever and closer now to hyperventilating than before. It wasn’t his fault, his tongue wasn’t in Malfoy’s mouth. In fact, if he did hyperventilate and pass out mid-kiss, it would be completely Malfoy’s fault. Because Malfoy was doing incredibly indecent things with his tongue and his lips and Ron certainly wasn’t anything more than the panicky bystander in all of this and—

Oh… He moaned weakly because somehow his own tongue had just followed Malfoy’s back into the other boy’s mouth and that was certainly not Malfoy’s fault. No, no, not Malfoy’s at all. Oh bollocks.

But then, Malfoy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if that strange purring noise was any indication…

Ron shifted (to pull away, he was sure, though by some accident of physics, he ended up sliding even further onto Malfoy’s lap, until he was nearly straddling him) and his hands nervously flew to Malfoy’s chest (to aid in pushing him away, though how they ended up twisting in Malfoy’s robes, Ron would never be able to remember). But then, dizzy and panting and not all that graceful at the best of times, Ron’s knee slipped off the edge of the bed and he yelped as he followed it, crashing to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Ron moaned, after a long, stunned moment in which he actually believed the floor had opened up and swallowed him. He was tangled in his blankets and they had fallen over his head. Malfoy’s stunned silence was making him nervous and he began fighting furiously to get untangled, ranting to himself as he did.

“Stupid goddamned blanket, oh my god, I’m so clumsy, fucking blanket, get off, god, oh my god…I think I broke something, shit!” Finally he just howled in frustration and gave up, slumping back to the floor, face burning. Maybe he’d suffocate and die and be spared the humiliation of having to look Malfoy in the eye…

No such luck. After he gave up trying to untangle himself, there was another short silence, and then Malfoy was laughing so hard that Ron was sure he was going to roll of the bed and join Ron on the floor (probably landing on his leg or something in the process, the bastard).

He didn’t, however, and Ron gathered the courage to carefully poke his head out of the mound of blankets and peek nervously up at the bed where Malfoy was still laughing helplessly.

“Malfoy?” he asked quietly, biting his lip.

Still giggling, Malfoy crawled to the edge of the bed and looked down. “Yes?”

“Umm, could I get some help here? I’m sorta stuck. And I think I bruised my knee.” He pouted petulantly when Malfoy just started laughing even harder. “Honestly,” he snapped, sitting up and wiggling his way out of the cocoon of blankets. Finally jerking free, he stomped towards the door. “This has been the worst day of my life, just for the record,” he ranted. “I’ve never been this humiliated — you can stop laughing any time, Malfoy! Not all of us are born with your grace and sophistication, you bastard.” He reached for the doorknob and was about to slam out of the room, when Malfoy grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, pressing him back against the door.

“That was so sexy,” Malfoy snickered sarcastically. He kissed him again, hard, Ron’s head smacked against the door, but Ron didn’t mind.

Moments later, when Malfoy pulled away, still laughing, Ron smiled shyly, his face still flushed. “You mean that?” he asked.

Rolling his eyes and smirking, Malfoy said, “Sexy? You fell off the bed, Weasley.” That was as far as he got before the helpless laughter came back, and Ron threw the door open and stomped away, furious and burning with humiliation.

He went downstairs, and Harry and Ginny were both in the kitchen, talking worriedly. If Ron had thought about it, he would have been amused, considering that Ginny already thought he’d gone mad and there he was, his clothing all askew, his hair wild, face burning, eyes glittery…

And then, when they both stared at him, he snapped, “What are you looking at?” and then, before they could reply, he stormed out of the house.

***

Hours later, when the sun was just starting to set, after wandering around fruitlessly, Ron returned to find Malfoy on the front step, leaning against the side of the house and holding a rock. He was furious.

“This, Weasley, is a [rock](http://www.fadedstars.com/lullabye/unbecomingart.gif),” he said.

Unnerved by the black rage in Malfoy’s eyes, Ron stumbled to a stop and said, “Erm, yes, it is.”

“I told Potter to tell you if you left, you’d be brained with a rock.”

Ron blinked. “I forgot.”

“Forgot? Forgot? You’ve been attacked twice now, twice, and you just conveniently forget?”

“I was…distraught.”

“I don’t fucking care if you were bleeding to death and needed to go to the sodding hospital, Weasley! I told you not to leave the fucking house!”

“See? I told you, Ron. Very protective.” Harry came walking up to the house, smirking, and Ron scowled.

“How come he got to leave and you didn’t threaten to brain him with the rock?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Just get in the fucking house.”

“It’s my house! You aren’t my bodyguard, I can go wherever the hell I want!” Ron snapped.

“I was just looking for you, Ron, Draco sent me. He can’t brain me if he’s the one who made me go,” Harry explained, slipping past Malfoy into the house. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“So can I!” Ron growled.

“Obviously.” Malfoy tossed the rock aside and then rolled his eyes, sounding exhausted. “Just come inside, Weasley,” he said, holding the door opened. “I won’t brain you with the rock, I swear.”

Glaring at him but unable to come up with a snappy retort, Ron stomped inside, ignoring Ginny’s sympathetic smile and making his way upstairs, deciding that it was the perfect time for a long, cold shower.

***

It was quickly nearing bedtime and Ron stood uncertainly in the doorway to his own bedroom, cotton pajamas in hand, chewing his lip. Harry was camped out on the couch below, already sleeping for all Ron knew (or cared). Ginny and Malfoy had been closed off in the kitchen for hours pouring over the library books Ron had procured. And Ron had no idea where he was supposed to sleep.

“First come, first serve,” he mumbled to himself, though the words lacked confidence. He carefully closed the door and changed, before slipping between the sheets of his own bed, which no longer felt like his.

He lay there for a while and couldn’t sleep. Staring at the ceiling and listening to his own breathing, he jumped at every sound. Hours passed before Malfoy made his way upstairs.

The instant he opened the door, Ron was up and out of the bed, stammering nervously, “I didn’t know where I was supposed to — Sorry, sorry, I’ll go…sleep on the, erm, floor, or something.”

Malfoy stepped into the room and Ron quickly sidestepped until he was about to slip out the door. Reaching out and grabbing Ron by the wrist, Malfoy shook his head, looking irritated. “You might as well stay.”

“Stay?” Ron squeaked.

“Where else are you going to sleep?”

“Floor. Bath. Kitchen sink?”

“Shut up. Calm down. I didn’t mean with me. I just meant… here.”

Ron’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously and he ignored the flutter of disappointment. “On the floor?”

Glancing from Ron to the bed and back again, Malfoy scowled. “I assure you, I can be a perfect gentleman.”

Ron spun towards the door. “Floor’s fine,” he yelped, trying to slip away. Malfoy grabbed him by the back of his pajamas, jerked him back, kicked the door shut, and rolled his eyes.

“Stop it! Besides.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny little bed, setting it on the floor and casting an engorgement charm. Moments later, a small cot was sitting near Ron’s old bed, already made and everything. Shrugging, he said, “When you were ill, I certainly wasn’t going to sleep on the sodding couch. Get on the bed. I won’t touch you. Just… You’re giving me a headache.”

“Ah,” Ron whispered, swallowing nervously. “S-sorry.”

Sitting carefully on the smaller bed Malfoy had just pulled from his pocket, Ron tried desperately not to watch as Malfoy stripped off his shirt and his trousers and slipped under the covers of the larger bed wearing only his boxers.

Ron whispered the charm to turn out the light and lay in tense silence for about ten minutes. He could hear Malfoy’s breathing well enough to tell that the other boy wasn’t asleep yet either, and there was a strange sort of tension vibrating in the air.

“Malfoy?” Ron called softly, when he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He was trembling a little bit and quite startled at his own daring, but impressed all at the same time.

“Yeah?”

“Remember before, the very first time you ever kissed me?” His voice shook and cracked a bit.

“Mmm.”

“And…and then later, you said that….” He trailed off, biting his lip, and he heard Malfoy sit up on the larger bed. That just made him more nervous.

“I said what?”

“That…that just because you kissed me, doesn’t mean you’re attracted to me?” It was said in a breathless rush, and Ron flinched as soon as he was done.

There was a long silence from the other bed, and Ron was gradually letting out his pent up breath when Malfoy said, “Weasley?”

“Yes?”

“Remember when I told you that you think too much?”

“Oh. Yeah. That was just today.”

“Yeah. Well, I was right. Shut up and go to sleep.”

There was a short silence and, satisfied, Malfoy burrowed under the covers again. A few seconds later, Ron sat up, chewing his lip worriedly. “Malfoy?” he whispered.

“What?” Malfoy moaned.

“You know how you said that you wouldn’t… wouldn’t touch me?”

“Yes.”

“Was that a promise?”

“…Yes.”

“And do you always…keep your promises?”

“I try.”

There was another short pause, and then, very slowly and carefully, Ron said, “Would… would it be breaking your promise if I touched you first?” Oh god, oh god, he was going to be sick… he was going to faint or puke or hyperventilate or die before Malfoy ever got the chance to answer.

He didn’t, though Malfoy seemed to consider his question for the longest time, before finally saying solemnly, “By accident, or on purpose?”

Squeezing his eyes shut and blushing furiously because Malfoy was either the stupidest person he’d ever met or deliberately misunderstanding because this was all some stupid joke, Ron slumped back onto his bed and whispered weakly, “Never mind.”

“Just… go to sleep, Weasley,” Malfoy sighed, and Ron obediently closed his eyes, though it was more to prevent the sudden rush of tears than anything.

He rolled onto his side and pressed one hand to his mouth to stop from making a sound, though his breathing had turned shaky and it echoed loudly in the silent room.

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment and Ron figured he’d fallen asleep, so he sighed softly to himself and rolled over to face the other bed, blinking away the tears that still stung his eyes. His throat felt tight and he was shaking. It was quite mortifying, really. There was a reason he never let himself walk into situations where rejection was a potential outcome, after all.

His eyelids fluttered sleepily and he whimpered a little, burying his face in his pillow. He had only just fallen asleep when Malfoy growled softly, rolled out of bed, and fell to his knees beside the small cot.

“Weasley,” he snapped.

Blinking and disoriented, Ron sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Wha?” he asked.

“Just… just… Shut up.” He was scowling, Ron could tell even though it was dark because a second later, Malfoy had jerked him forward and kissed him, and Ron could feel the scowl pressed against his own sleepy frown. “Come on,” Malfoy said, taking Ron’s hand and tugging it until Ron had stumbled from his bed, across the room, and into Malfoy’s.

“Why?” Ron asked, still not comprehending.

Malfoy got in behind him, grumbling softly under his breath even as he slipped one arm around Ron’s waist, pulling him back against him. “Just… don’t move, don’t speak, nothing. No fidgeting either, just lay still. Sodding hell, don’t move till morning.” When he spoke, his breath tickled Ron’s ear, and Ron snickered sleepily.

It felt incredibly safe, Malfoy’s arms around him, and Ron relaxed against the other boy, his eyes slowly slipping shut. A few seconds later, after a weary sigh, Malfoy used the corner of the blanket to dry the sticky traces of Ron’s tears.

“Malfoy?” Ron whispered quietly.

“Mmm?”

“I’m not gay.” Even as he said it, Ron was snuggling back into Malfoy’s arms, and Malfoy smiled a little.

“I know, love,” he said, kissing the back of Ron’s neck. “Go to sleep.”

Smiling in a satisfied sort of way, Ron made an approving noise in the back of his throat and obeyed.

# Chapter 05

Unbecoming  
By Cinnamon  


Chapter Five

“Hey. Hey, Weasley. Ron. Wake up.” Growling, Malfoy nudged his shoulder and, still mostly asleep, Ron slapped his hand weakly. “No, seriously,” Malfoy whined. “Your head’s cutting off circulation to my hand.” There was more tugging and a muffled grunt, and then, irritated, Malfoy shoved him. “Hey!” he snapped. “Wake up.”

With a sleepy moan, Ron rolled over to face him, opening one eye and glaring. “I was sleeping,” he mumbled, stretching a bit and ignoring the way his entire body pressed against Malfoy’s when he moved. Snorting happily, he snuggled close and closed his eyes again.

“No,” Malfoy said. “No, no, no. Up. Wake up. Damn it, Weasley.” He jerked his arm out from under Ron’s head, causing him to yelp as it to fall to the bed.

“What was that for?” he asked, sitting up and blinking sleepily.

Wincing as he rubbed his arm, Malfoy snapped, “I told you, you were cutting off circulation to my hand!”

Ron hadn’t processed a single word Malfoy had said, because he’d suddenly remembered that he had spent the night in Malfoy’s bed, and not only that, that Malfoy was barely dressed. He hadn’t noticed the night before, but then, it had been quite dark then, and now… now there was no darkness to obscure the image of Draco Malfoy reclining lazily in bed with hardly any clothes on, hair wild, and eyes sleepy.

“You’re beautiful,” Ron said accidentally, and then he flinched away, startled. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, mortified. “I didn’t mean —”

“Forget it,” Malfoy said quickly, looking distantly and mildly amused. It would have added to Ron’s humiliation, except that there were two bright red spots steadily getting brighter on Malfoy’s cheeks. He was blushing, though he tried to hide it, snatching his pack of cigarettes up off the bedside table and lighting one quickly. Ron grinned. He’d made the worldly Malfoy blush?

“Smoking’s a nasty habit,” he said, even as he contentedly lay back down beside Malfoy, resting his head on the other boy’s shoulder. If Malfoy was surprised, he didn’t show it, only wrapped his arm around Ron and let his hand rest on his chest. Ron had just let his eyes close sleepily when the door flew open.

It was Ginny. “Malfoy, Ron’s gone, I’ve looked every--… Oh my god.”

Ron’s eyes flew open and he yelped, snatching the blanket and throwing it up over his head, even as he heard Malfoy’s lazy reply. “Apparently you didn’t look everywhere after all. He’s fine.”

“I… I can see that.” She sounded faint and Ron squeezed his eyes shut in horror.

“You can go now,” Malfoy prompted.

“Umm, yes.” Then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

There was a long silence, and then Malfoy poked him. “She’s gone,” he said. “You can come out now.”

“Do you think she knew it was me?” he asked shakily.

“Oh, I’m quite sure that if she didn’t recognize you before you hid, she most likely could tell given the fact that your hair is sticking up wildly and glinting in the sunlight. She most likely would have recognized that, given that you Weasleys are the only ones I’ve ever met with such a garish hair colour.”

Ron moaned, mortified. “Why didn’t you tell me the top of my head wasn’t covered?” he snapped, fighting his way out of the blanket. Malfoy was still smoking calmly, smirking, and Ron wanted, suddenly, to hit him. “You do know what she’s going to think about me now, don’t you?” he growled.

The amusement was gone from Malfoy’s face then, and he snapped, “Who the hell cares what she thinks? Besides, it’s true.”

Stung, Ron pulled away. “Shut up,” he whispered.

“Oh, you’re right,” Malfoy sneered. “It’s not true, not at all. Letting me kiss you and sleeping with me—”

“Sleeping in the same bed and sleeping with you are two totally different things!”

Malfoy ignored him. “And all that shit you said last night, about wanting to touch me… and not to mention that boy you let shag you that night…. All of that is perfectly heterosexual behavior.”

“Stop it,” Ron whispered, crawling away and watching Malfoy with wide-eyes.

“And kissing Potter, let’s not forget about that. I’m sure that was a perfectly easy mistake, could have been made by any heterosexual out there!”

Flinching, Ron whimpered, “I was drunk.”

“You know what your problem is, Weasley? You’re perfectly content with being what you are as long as it doesn’t require any action on your part. It’s alright for you to be touched and be kissed and be bloody well shagged because that doesn’t mean it’s real. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, that means there’s something wrong with whoever does the touching and kissing and shagging. That means they’re perverted and wrong and twisted and it doesn’t fucking matter if you liked it, does it? Because that isn’t the issue, the issue is that it wasn’t you. It was them. Which means that you’re normal. Doesn’t it?”

“I-I don’t know. Stop, Malfoy, just… please…”

He tossed his cigarette into a glass on the bedside table and sat up, crawling towards Ron, looking furious. “But it isn’t right, is it?” he taunted. “Because you like it. And that’s what you’re so scared of. Not that you’re gay, but that you like being that way. That it feels right.”

“Stop it,” Ron hissed.

“But you like it,” Malfoy said in a silky whisper, close enough now to touch. “Don’t you like it, Weasley? You can tell me…”

“Get away from me.” His voice was shaking but Ron couldn’t remember how to run.

“Don’t you want me to touch you?” Malfoy was smirking coldly. “C’mon, you don’t even have to touch me back, that’s the way you like it, isn’t it?” He reached forward and touched Ron’s face, tracing his lips and then letting his fingers trail down Ron’s neck, over his collarbone and his chest. He paused there, looking almost coyly into Ron’s eyes. “Tell me you don’t like it when I touch you, if you’re so fucking heterosexual.”

Ron swallowed hard and opened his lips to reply, but before he could get a single word out, Malfoy’s hand slipped almost casually lower, over his stomach and then under his shirt. “I-I don’t like…”

“Are you sure?” Malfoy whispered, leaning so close that his lips brushed the corner of Ron’s mouth as his hand slipped lower, into Ron’s sensible cotton pajama bottoms.

“N-No… I mean… yes… I mean… Please, Malfoy...” He was breathing heavily and had anyone asked, he really wouldn’t have been able to say if he was begging Malfoy to stop or keep going.

Malfoy kissed his lips very gently and whispered wistfully, “Let me know when you figure it out, Weasley. I don’t have time for people who are too scared to admit that they want me.”

Before Ron could reply, Malfoy was off the bed and out of the room, closing the door behind him. Moments later, he heard the shower start, and flopped back on the bed and groaned. It was too early in the day for a mess this massive, he decided mournfully.

He dressed quickly and hurried out of the room, looking for Ginny. Explaining things to her seemed the most important thing at the moment… or at least, the easiest to deal with. He’d simply tell her that nothing had happened (which it hadn’t, not really) and then hopefully she wouldn’t think he was… well, gay.

Because he wasn’t.

He found her in the living room and all his courage deserted him. He froze and she smiled at him, though it was shaky. “Ron? Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’ve gotta…go. I mean… things to see to, and…” He backed nervously towards the door, but Ginny grabbed his hand and forced him to sit down beside her.

“Stop that,” she chided, still holding his hand tightly so he could not bolt for the door. “We need to talk.”

He sighed and said, “Yeah, actually, we do. It wasn’t… wasn’t what you thought.”

She considered this for a long moment and then said, “Ron. Don’t be a complete moron and don’t take me for one either.”

“What?” he squeaked.

“Do you even know what it looked like?”

“I’m not gay!” he cried.

She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well if Draco Malfoy wants to hold you like that then you bloody well should be!”

“…What?”

“Harry told me, Ron. A few days ago, he told me that you had kissed him. It was right after you first woke up from the fever, when you freaked out so badly to see him in your bedroom. Why didn’t you tell me?” She looked sad now, and Ron swallowed guiltily.

“It was wrong,” he whispered.

“You’re being a complete idiot,” she told him, with utmost gentleness.

“You don’t understand.”

“Listen to me,” she said sternly, tightening her hold on his hand. “It’s alright.”

Ron tried to pull away. “I told you, you don’t understand!”

“It’s alright, Ron,” she said again, her free hand grabbing his ear to force him to look at her. “If you like Malfoy, it’s alright. Granted, he’s not the nicest fellow I’ve ever had the privilege of living with and he’s a right bastard most of the time, but if you like him, that doesn’t change a thing. Just like you kissing Harry doesn’t change a thing. I don’t care.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ron pleaded.

“Have you kissed him?” she asked abruptly.

“Harry?”

“Malfoy.”

“…Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Ginny—”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“How much simpler could it be?” she cried.

“I… well, a lot simpler, really. He could be an attractive, nubile bar wench and I could be a studly lumberjack. That, I could see happening.”

Ginny blinked. “What?”

“Or I could be an attractive female secretary and he could be the divorced, rich, attractive executive.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Or I could be a king and he could be a dancing girl in my harem and—”

“Ron!” she wailed. “Please, get to the point, the mental pictures are not helping!”

“What I mean,” he growled, “is that he’s a boy, Ginny. I am too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

She shrugged. “Well, being a girl doesn’t make things any simpler, let me assure you. I mean, I’ve been a good girl. The very definition of normal, if you discount that nasty incident in the Chamber of Secrets.” She scowled. “My point is, don’t be such an idiot, Ron. There are a lot more complicated things out there than being attracted to another guy. You could be attracted to… to Professor Sprout. That would be wrong. You could be attracted to dogs or bats. That would be wrong. Malfoy’s one of the most gorgeous people I’ve ever seen. Being attracted to him seems rather inevitable, not wrong.”

“But I’m not gay,” Ron whispered.

“Would it be such a bad thing if you were?”

“It would be scary.”

“Being straight’s scary. Trust me.” She smiled almost bitterly, and then said, “Do you remember when you asked me what I wanted, way back before Fred and George’s birthday? And I said something real?”

“Yes.”

“If your something real is with a boy, Ron, do you honestly think it’s going to make a difference to me?”

Ron’s shoulders slumped and he glanced away, licking his lips and sighing. “He’s kind of mad at me anyway.”

“Well, I can only imagine how frustrating it must be, being a guy sleeping with another guy who keeps insisting that he’s straight.”

Ron scowled. “I didn’t sleep with him!”

She smirked. “Well, I’d imagine that must have been pretty frustrating for him too.”

“Ginny,” Ron said faintly, looking horrified.

Laughing, she said, “Just go talk to him.” She tossed him a devious look and said, “Take as long as you need, too, I’m sure Malfoy’ll appreciate it, and I’ll keep Harry occupied with research or something.”

Before Ron could think up a suitably disapproving reply, Ginny was gone and he was alone, mouth hanging open and face slowly turning red.

Malfoy had just gotten out of the shower when Ron slipped back into his room. Wrapped in a towel, he was sorting through the top two dresser drawers, which he had cleared for himself, looking for something to wear.

Ron cleared his throat nervously and Malfoy said, over his shoulder, “I know you’re there, Weasley. What do you want?”

It was too easy, and Ron let out the breath he’d been holding. “I… You.” His voice cracked. Bloody hell.

Malfoy scowled and tossed the shirt he’d been inspecting aside before turning to face him. “What?”

“I want you.” It almost sounded sexy, he assured himself. Only a little squeaky. Almost even sounded like he knew what he was doing, sort of.

Malfoy tilted his head and studied him for a long moment before smiling a bit. “Are you trying to be seductive, Weasley? Because I have to admit, a guy wearing cotton pajamas and looking like a frightened rabbit hardly turns me on.”

Ron growled a little and turned away, breathing heavily and fighting with the doorknob. He needed to escape, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t stand to be laughed at and— why the hell wouldn’t the door open? His hands were so fucking sweaty, fuck…

“Weasley. Weasley, stop it,” Malfoy sighed from where he stood across the room. Ron ignored him, whimpered a bit, and wiped his hand on his trousers before trying the doorknob again. “C’mere,” Malfoy called coaxingly, and Ron gave up on the door and turned around, flattening himself against it. Malfoy grinned a little and held out his hand. “You’re not scared, are you?” he teased.

“Malfoy…” Ron pleaded. “Just… let me go. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I thought…”

Malfoy was there suddenly, pinning him to the door. “But I don’t want you to go,” he said.

“You’re only wearing a towel,” Ron reminded him faintly, having decided earlier that he rather liked being in the same room when Malfoy was only wearing a towel, but suddenly all too aware of how little it covered.

“I had noticed.”

“I…well… But… we can hardly discuss this in a logical sort of way when you’re only wearing a sodding towel, Malfoy!”

“Mmm, I know,” Malfoy purred, leaning forward and nibbling Ron’s earlobe.

“M-Malfoy,” Ron stammered.

“Just…” He pulled away, rolling his eyes. “Breathe, okay?”

“I am breathing,” Ron said weakly.

“D’you really want to discuss this in a logical sort of way?” Malfoy seemed almost to be pouting and Ron squirmed.

“I… well, no. Well, I did want to tell you that you were wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.”

“Liar. You said that I was too scared to admit that I wanted you. But I did, last night, and you… didn’t care. I asked if I could touch you and you asked if I meant by accident…”

Malfoy sighed. “Last night you were so confused that you didn’t know what you wanted,” he said.

“I did,” Ron said quietly. “I knew I wanted you.”

Stepping back and studying him critically, Malfoy smiled a little. “Wow, Weasley, your voice didn’t even crack that time.”

Rolling his eyes and turning a little red, Ron shook his head. “Shut up, Malfoy,” he said, grinning a little sheepishly.

“Are we done with the logical discussion?”

Ron considered for a moment and then said, only partially seriously, “I suppose. That wasn’t so hard, admitting that. I feel a bit better, really. I should probably go tell Ginny, she was awfully worried that I was gonna screw this up.”

As he spoke, he was fumbling again with the doorknob, and he’d just finally managed to turn it when Malfoy growled, “Weasley, don’t you dare. C’mere.”

Shooting a devious look over his shoulder, Ron snickered. When Malfoy only glared threateningly, he rolled his eyes, kicked the door shut, spun around, and grinned. “Oh, honestly, Malfoy,” he chided. “You think anyone could walk away from you when you use that tone?” And then he snickered again, even as he threw himself at Malfoy, knocking the other boy back onto the bed.

Malfoy yelped, barely managing to catch Ron and stop himself from smashing his head on the headboard. “That was sexy,” he said, still rather stunned. Ron sat on top of him, beaming.

“Malfoy?” Ron whispered a moment later.

“Yeah?”

“Your towel’s slipping.”

“I, uh, know.”

“And also…”

“What?”

“This doesn’t mean I’m not scared… I mean, if I was any more scared, I think I’d be running from the room screaming.”

Malfoy grabbed his wrist tightly, just in case. “It’ll be fine,” he said.

Smiling nervously, Ron slipped off of him and knelt beside him, chewing his lower lip. Malfoy sat up, shifting a bit and adjusting his towel, and Ron watched him.

“Malfoy?” he said finally, voice a little husky.

“Mmm?” Malfoy asked, still adjusting the towel and tightening the knot.

“Remember how I said I wanted you?”

“Yeah.”

“I meant today.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Malfoy mumbled, even as he got to his knees so he was facing Ron and grinned. “You were the one going on about logical conversations and all that rot—”

He got no further because Ron had grabbed him roughly and jerked him forward so that their lips crashed together. Startled, Malfoy lost his balance and they both fell back, landing tangled together, the towel lost somewhere in the fall.

Ron briefly considered freaking out at Malfoy’s sudden nudity, but it seemed so much easier to just close his eyes and hold onto the other boy tightly and kiss him till he couldn’t breathe. And much more pleasurable besides.

“Weasley?” Malfoy gasped a moment later, crushed beneath Ron.

“Mmm?”

“I can’t breathe, you’re crushing my windpipe with your arm.”

“Shit, sorry…” He backed off, feeling a little giddy. He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness, and Malfoy grinned at him, rubbing his throat.

“Better,” he said. “But slower would probably work better, yeah?”

“Slower isn’t good,” Ron objected.

“Why?”

“It lasts too long. Get it over with fast, that’s my motto.”

Malfoy frowned. “Why?” he asked again.

“Well… it’s going to be nasty and it’s going to hurt, I remember.”

Moaning and flopping back onto the bed, Malfoy buried his face in his hands. “You’re so bloody frustrating!”

He was carefully draping the sheet over Malfoy’s lower body, so Ron didn’t bother to reply. Finally, Malfoy looked up at him. “Listen, alright?” he said, obviously straining for patience. “Just…trust me.”

Ron tilted his head a bit and brushed his hair out of his eyes, biting his lip thoughtfully. “But it will hurt.”

“It won’t. I swear, I won’t do anything to hurt you. Just… stop thinking so much, alright?”

He was shaking, just a little bit, but he nodded once. “Right,” he whispered, feeling like he’d just signed some sort of pact with the devil.

Malfoy smiled, almost sweetly. “Good.” He sat up, scowled at the sheet Ron had so carefully covered him with, and kicked it off. Then, kneeling in front of Ron, he smiled again, encouragingly, and leaned forward and kissed him.

It was careful and light and teasing, as non-threatening as it could possibly be, and Ron let himself relax into the kiss, sighing a little and bringing his hands up to rest on Malfoy’s shoulders. Malfoy trailed his hands down Ron’s back and then slipped them under his shirt, pushing it up over his head. The kiss was broken for a breathless moment while Ron’s head was tangled in his shirt, and that moment was nearly enough to bring back the panic, but then the shirt was gone and Malfoy was kissing him again, warmly and sweetly and carefully, not giving him time to think about anything else. Including Malfoy’s hands on his naked chest, or his own hands on Malfoy’s naked shoulders, or anything at all really.

Running his fingers through Ron’s hair, Malfoy tugged lightly until Ron tilted his head back, and then slid lower, kissing and licking the hollow of his throat. Ron shivered, closing his eyes.

“Lie back,” Malfoy whispered.

Ron’s eyes flew open. “What?” he asked shakily.

“Trust me,” Malfoy said again, coaxingly, nudging him and biting the side of his neck gently.

“I don’t think I can—”

Malfoy growled a bit and shut him up by kissing him hard until he forgot to be scared, forgot to protest, forgot how to breathe, and when the lack of oxygen went straight to his brain, he melted against Malfoy with a contented sigh. Smirking, Malfoy pushed him until he was lying on his back, eyes glazed over and dark, and then came down on top of him.

It was rather pleasant, Ron decided, lying like this. And it wasn’t wrong because he still had his pajama bottoms on (he conveniently forgot that Malfoy didn’t have anything on at all, which was rather hard considering one of his hands had somehow slid from his shoulder, down over his back, and lower).

Malfoy was on top of him, naked chest pressed to his, kissing him (Ron’s lips were tingling and so was his tongue and it was the strangest thing. It felt like it should sting but it didn’t). When Malfoy finally paused for a breath, backing off a bit, Ron opened his eyes and blinked lethargically up at him, smiling a bit. Malfoy was panting, his hair, still damp from his shower, brushed off his face and standing in erratic spikes, still showing the trails Ron’s fingers had made. His lips were swollen as well and Ron reached up with one shaking finger and traced them with his thumb, laughing a bit when Malfoy reacted by biting him.

It became more serious a moment later, however, when Malfoy ground his hips down, as if reminding Ron that this was nothing to laugh at. The laughter choked in Ron’s throat and turned into a panicky moan because suddenly things had escalated from kissing and being close to something more wild and feral and he couldn’t breathe.

“Close your eyes,” Malfoy said, and Ron did.

There was a breathless moment in which the only sound was his erratic breathing and he became hyperaware of every place Malfoy’s body touched his, trying to guess where he would be touched next, or kissed, licked, bitten, something, anything, and the waiting had almost gotten to be too much when finally, Malfoy slipped lower and licked a light pattern across his chest.

Startled, Ron sucked in a sudden breath and let it out in a hiss, his eyelids fluttering but staying closed. Laughing huskily, Malfoy did it again, sliding lower and tracing the same pattern across the muscles of Ron’s stomach.

Ron was just beginning to get nervous again when Malfoy came back up, tilting his face with one hand and slamming his mouth down hard, forcing his tongue back inside. Startled, Ron kissed him back all the same, was even so distracted (which, he would later decide, had been Malfoy’s intention) that he didn’t notice Malfoy’s hand slipping inside his trousers until it was too late to panic.

Then Ron yelped and tore away, staring up at Malfoy with wide eyes and panting so raggedly that he was due to hyperventilate at any moment.

Still, Malfoy kept touching him, stroking him and tracing strange circles on his hot skin, making it burn hotter.

Smiling a bit, Malfoy kissed the corner of Ron’s lips and then lowered his head, until he was nuzzling just behind Ron’s ear. “It’s alright,” he said, and Ron shivered, a strangled moan burning in his throat. His eyes squeezed shut even as he pushed himself further into Malfoy’s hand, terrified and wanting all at once.

Malfoy laughed huskily and bit his ear gently. “Breathe,” he whispered, and Ron turned his head to face him, kissing him desperately, both hands tangling in Malfoy’s silky wet hair. It was a distraction from what Malfoy was doing to him, though hardly a satisfactory one. No, no, actually, it rather seemed to add to his desperate whimpers and the frequency with which he found himself grinding his erection into Malfoy’s hand. Fuck…

“Calm down,” Malfoy said finally, pulling his hand away and studying Ron’s face for a moment. “You’ve got to breathe.”

“I am… breathing…” Ron gasped. Then he looked sulky. “You stopped. Why did you —”

“Shh,” Malfoy chided, rolling his eyes. “Greedy bugger, just a sec.”

Ron wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to care that all of a sudden his trousers were gone and tossed to the floor. He wasn’t thinking straight at all anymore, all that mattered was that Malfoy wasn’t close enough anymore and he needed… He shifted a bit and whimpered and Malfoy laughed, kissing him lightly.

There were already bruises forming on Ron’s throat, and Malfoy swirled his tongue around those as he slid lower. Ron watched with shadowy, heavy eyes as Malfoy bit and licked and kissed his chest, his stomach, and then slid even lower.

“Wait,” he croaked, his voice dry and husky.

Malfoy looked up at him in perfect innocence and whispered, “Are you sure, Weasley?” And then, either to tease or demonstrate exactly what Ron would be missing, he licked him there again lightly.

It was warm and it was wet and it made his head fall back and his hips arch upwards even as he whispered, “Umm, okay…” His voice cracked but he didn’t care, because, with a husky laugh, Malfoy had repeated the licking motion only this time going farther.

Nothing Ron had ever experienced in his entire life had shaken him the way having Malfoy’s mouth around him did. He couldn’t catch his breath and he couldn’t stop trembling and he was sure that he was going to die at any moment. It ached and it burned and it made him want to fall apart and melt and burn and…

Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes and he was panting so desperately that Malfoy pulled away. “Weasley,” he called, and Ron blinked and, with effort, focused on him. Malfoy grinned crookedly and said coaxingly, “Don’t forget to breathe, love.”

“Uh, I am,” Ron stammered, sucking in a deep breath to prove it.

“Mmm, good boy,” Malfoy whispered, before going right back to making him forget how to do it all over again.

Breathing and thinking became almost impossible and Ron lost all sense of time, all sense of anything, really, except Malfoy and every place he touched him.

“D-Draco?” Ron squeaked, maybe forever later, trying to sit up. Rolling his eyes, Malfoy reached up and pushed him back lightly. “But… but you should…” Anything else he was trying to say was lost in a breathless moan as he came, burying his fingers in Malfoy's hair and clinging desperately.

It didn’t matter because everything suddenly seemed to drip away around him. Almost like the whole world was made out of sugar cubes that had suddenly been dropped into the hugest mug of coffee and began to melt away until all that was left were a few shimmery little bits.

“Ummh,” he breathed weakly.

Malfoy laughed a little, sitting up even as he rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his damp hair. Ron watched him, his vision a little hazy, his heart still racing. “Alright?” Malfoy asked, flopping down beside him.

Ron rolled onto his side, eyes wide and full of awe. “You have got to teach me how to do that.”

Malfoy blinked, looking a bit flustered, if the slight reddening of his face was any indication. “It’s not an exact science, Weasley,” he said, clearing his throat. Then he grinned slowly. “I have, however, got a free afternoon if you think you need practice…”

***

Ron’s face was abnormally flushed and he hoped no one noticed. Malfoy noticed, of course, but that was to be expected as he knew why Ron was feeling rather feverish. Of course, seeing as his natural colour was quite pale, he had to wonder how blind Harry and Ginny had to be not to notice the flush on his face.

They hadn’t commented, however, which was good. It meant they didn’t suspect anything, aside from what they already knew. Which was, in Harry’s case, that Ron had a strange tendency to get drunk and kiss other boys. Which wasn’t all that incriminating, really, in the grand scheme of things, especially considering what he’d proven to like doing to other boys whilst sober. In Ginny’s case, she simply knew that he had a small infatuation with Malfoy. And that he’d spent an inordinate amount of time closed up with Malfoy in a bedroom earlier that very day. But surely she didn’t suspect that they had done anything… Surely— any hopeful thoughts along those lines were firmly squashed when Ginny glanced across the table at him and smirked knowingly. Damn it.

“Right. So. Hit me,” Harry said.

Malfoy dealt him another card and Harry peeked at it and frowned in disappointment. Poker face of champions, that one.

They weren’t playing for money, which was good as Ron didn’t have any. They weren’t playing strip blackjack either, no, which was good as Ron had absolutely no desire to see his little sister naked. Instead, every time any of them lost, they had to share a secret with the others. Which was, Ron had decided ruefully, just a more sophisticated brand of Truth or Dare, and he’d always loathed that game.

Ginny won the hand, and this time, it was Harry who had gone highest over twenty-one. Ron tossed his cards into the table and slumped thankfully, content that at least he wouldn’t need to share one of his secrets, not that he had all that many, really. It wasn’t quantity that mattered but quality, however, and Ron had some very high quality secrets.

“Oh god,” Harry groaned.

The winner of the game got to ask the question, and Ginny was grinning like a cat as she thought carefully on what to ask.

Perhaps it was not the best use of their time. Perhaps they should have been researching or planning defensive protocol in case anything happened to Ginny. Filling out ministry paperwork, cleaning the bathroom, writing owls to their parents (Ron’s and Ginny’s, anyway), reassuring them that they were still alive. But it had been Ron who had half-heartedly suggested a game after dinner (though he’d suggested Yahtzee, that had quickly been veto’d by Malfoy who, he claimed, had a phobia of dice. Ron hadn’t asked, really. There were some things he felt he was better off not knowing.). So they had started playing cards, the game quickly evolving into this twisted, macabre and somewhat immature game of kiss and tell.

Ginny, eyes narrowed, finally said, “Right. Harry, name the one person in all the world you would shag if given half the chance.”

Ron tried to pretend to be interested, but all concentration he had was shot a moment later when Malfoy, who was sitting beside him, casually slid one hand onto his knee. Sitting up straight suddenly and sucking in a startled breath, he tried desperately not to yelp or anything, glad that Harry was distracted by glaring at Ginny, who was distracted by glaring back.

“Anyone in the world? Like someone famous or something?” Harry asked.

Ron didn’t care, really. Malfoy had glanced at him and smirked in that annoyingly smug way of his and slid his hand higher, onto his thigh. Ron’s breathing sped up a little and he grabbed Malfoy’s hand with his own, tugging on it and trying not to draw attention to himself. Malfoy smacked his hand lightly and snickered, but didn’t pull his hand away.

“Anyone. Famous, dead, not famous, evil, good, old, young, I don’t care. One person you’d shag. Hermione?” She snickered. “I won’t tell Percy. Or what about Fleur Delacour?”

Ron smothered a whimper as Malfoy’s hand slid higher, so casually. He turned his head, his dark eyes meeting Ron’s, and something almost electric snapped through Ron’s body and nothing for all the world could have made him break that strange, magnetic stare, nothing in all the world—

“Ron.”

Ron’s head snapped around and his eyes widened. He distantly heard Malfoy draw a startled breath, his hand falling away, and both of them stared incredulously at Harry, who was looking rather sheepish and staring at the table.

Ginny cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the awkward tension in the room. “Uhmm, what?”

“Yeah, excuse me?” Ron asked, quite sure he hadn’t heard correctly.

Harry shifted awkwardly. “Umm, well, I had to tell the truth or I’d have been whacked!” They’d cast truth charms around the table that could sense if someone lied and would deliver a sensation of being slapped across the face, just in the interest of keeping things fair. The bigger the lie, the harder the slap.

Ron blinked a few times, and then blinked again. “Oh,” he said.

Ginny didn’t seem to know how to respond at all. “Umm, you guys should talk about that later.” It came out in a rush with a nervous glance at Malfoy. Ron quickly looked over at him and saw his face was white with a strange sort of fury, and that Malfoy seemed unable to pull his eyes away from Harry, who was too busy staring at the table to notice anything. Hesitantly sliding his hand over and resting it lightly on Malfoy’s leg, Ron nudged him a little until Malfoy turned to look at him.

Offering a weak and hopefully reassuring smile, Ron said in a very falsely happy tone, “Let’s just play the next hand, okay?”

They played for a while more, but the fun (if the sadistic sort of grim pleasure they’d been enjoying previous to Harry’s confession could be called fun) was lost, and instead, an electric tension had fallen over the table that had nothing to do with the anti-cheating whacking charm.

It didn’t take long before the tension snapped and Malfoy tossed his cards and snapped some excuse before leaving the room. Ginny, chewing her lip fiercely, soon followed, claiming she had a headache. That left Ron and Harry alone, still defensively holding their cards.

Though the game was effectively over, Ron still stared at his hand, mentally counting up the cards. He had nine. Crap, what a shitty hand. If only Malfoy were still here to hit him again, then maybe he wouldn’t suck so badly and—

“Ron.”

His head snapped up and his hand trembled, cards slipping, face up, onto the table. “Oh. Umm. I should go too. Shopping to do. We’re out of… eggs.” He swallowed hard.

“Ron… I-I’m sorry.” Harry looked distinctly miserable and Ron felt a little guilty. Which was ridiculous, of course, but it was his nature to somehow believe that this was his fault.

“It’s alright… it was just a dumb game… besides, it doesn’t matter, right? I mean, it was a lie, right?” His eyes were wide and pleading.

“I didn’t get whacked, did I?” Harry said, sounding exasperated.

“But Harry!” Ron wailed. “You’re not… You’re… when I kissed you…”

“You said you didn’t remember that.”

“I lied! You said you didn’t like guys that way!”

“I lied.”

“Oh.”

They looked at each other, eyes narrowed. Ron was checking for some sign he must have missed before, something that would have hinted that maybe Harry was just as twisted as he was. There was no sign, nothing. He looked just the same.

“I just wanted you to know that just because I told you that, I don’t expect you to, you know, feel the same as you did back when you kissed me, that’s not… I didn’t come here for that… Draco brought me here… and before, when I asked if you and he were…t-together, it wasn’t because I was jealous, I just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t… wasn’t fucking with you.”

Ron squinted and he said slowly, “Fucking with me?”

“I’m so glad you’re not with him though,” Harry kept on babbling. “Because I wanted to warn you… and I was worried that it was too late, because… Draco’s… well…” His face was turning red.

“Well, what?”

“Well, did he tell you why he was assigned to be Ginny’s body guard?”

“As punishment. He fucked up on assignment.”

“Umm, yeah. Umm… He… we were partners.”

“Okay…” Ron wasn’t quite getting it.

“We were supposed to be catching a Death Eater who we’d gotten word was going to attempt an assassination on Dumbledore. We were waiting outside to ambush him, in the bushes…”

“Right.” Ron was frowning.

“And, umm, the reason he—we fucked up… He umm… we were sort of too busy and forgot to watch for him.”

“Busy. Right. I see.” Ron didn’t.

“Dumbledore was alright, of course. But our superior was sorta pissed off when he found out what we’d been doing.”

“And that was?”

“Draco was… he was… we were…” He cleared his throat and trailed off and then said quickly, “Which is why I’m glad you and aren’t together like that, because I didn’t want him to hurt you and… so… you’re not, right? You swear?”

Feeling rather like he’d just suddenly realized he was caught in a violent thunderstorm and everything was swirling around him, Ron said faintly, “Oh. Oh. I see. Of course we’re not. I wouldn’t… wouldn’t let Malfoy touch me for all the world.”

It was the last thing he got to say before the anti-cheating whacking spell slammed into the side of his head and sent him flying from his chair.

# Chapter 06

Unbecoming  
By Cinnamon  


Chapter Six

When the blackness and nausea receded enough for Ron to open his eyes and gingerly glance about, it was to find himself quite confused and lying on his back on the floor. He couldn’t immediately recall what on earth had possessed him to sleep on the floor this way, and the strange, muffled grunting from nearby quickly drew his attention. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over.

He blinked; Harry and Malfoy were mashed together, snarling, grunting, and apparently either trying to shag as quickly as humanly possible or choke each other to death.

With a moan, he flopped back and squeezed his eyes shut. There was a sudden silence from Malfoy and Harry, and then cautiously, “Ron? Are you alright?”

There was a thump and a muffled curse and then Malfoy snarled, “Get off me, damn it.” Then suddenly Malfoy was kneeling beside him. Ron opened his eyes and squinted up at him, frowning. Malfoy’s lower lip was swollen and cracked, his hair wild. A second later, Harry popped into his range of vision, looking just as battered. “Alright, Weasley?” Malfoy asked, incredibly gently. “I swear, I won’t let him touch you again.”

Ron blinked in confusion but before he could ask, Harry shoved Malfoy and snapped, “I told you, I didn’t do it!”

“Do what?” Ron asked, his voice rough.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Malfoy came flying down here after you passed out and he saw you there and started shouting about me attacking you or something. Then he attacked me.”

“If you didn’t hit him, why’d he pass out?” Malfoy said, sounding sulky. Ron shook his head a little, wondering if he was stuck in some morbid dream in which Malfoy and Harry had both somehow regressed to being eleven years old again.

“I don’t know!” Harry snapped.

“I… was whacked,” Ron admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

“…Whacked?” Malfoy repeated, a little slowly.

“Oh god,” Harry breathed. “The anti-cheating whacking charm.”

Ron flinched and Malfoy said, “What? What about it?”

“We hadn’t turned it off. Ron… Ron, you lied to me.”

Whimpering, Ron didn’t reply, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lied about what?” Malfoy asked.

“He said… He said that he wouldn’t let you touch him for all the world.”

With another strangled noise, rather like an animal in pain, Ron lurched to his feet and stammered, “I’ve got to go. I’m gonna be sick.” He took off out of the room, tripping on the stairs and practically crawling up, and falling to his knees in the bathroom, trying desperately not to vomit.

“Ron?” Harry called nervously from the hall, and Ron kicked the door shut. He hadn’t turned on the light and was instantly cast into darkness, but he didn’t care. Harry swore quietly and left him alone, and Ron waited until the dizzy feeling had subsided before falling weakly against the wall. Eventually, he got up and locked the door, crawling into the bathtub, still in his clothing and lying curled up at the bottom of it, eyes open and wide. The only sound was his panicky breathing.

It was a lot to process. Malfoy and Harry together, Harry knowing about him and Malfoy, Harry wanting him… Ron’s head was spinning and he was glad it was dark in the bathroom because he was sure the world must be spinning faster than normal as well, to cause this dizzy sensation, and he was glad he didn’t have to see it.

“Breathe,” he reminded himself, wishing forlornly that he’d brought something alcoholic with him.

“Alohamora.”

“Shit.”

The door swung open and Ron could see Harry’s silhouette shadowed by the hallway light. “Ron?”

“In the bath,” Ron said dully.

“Oh.” Harry came in, closing the door behind him, not turning on the light, and for a long while, there was silence. Then, softly, Harry asked, “Are you still in the bath?”

“Yes.”

“Are you wearing any clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” A pause. “There isn’t any water in there, is there?”

“No.”

“Good then.”

Another long pause, and then Ron sighed. “Harry?”

“Did you and Malfoy…” They’d spoken at the same time and there was nervous laughter.

“What?” Ron asked, at the same time that Harry did.

“Did you guys sleep together?” Harry asked very softly.

Ron sat up, peering over the edge of the bath, though it was too dark to see anything. “No,” he replied, honestly.

“Oh. But you…”

“Sort of.”

“Oh.”

It was all incredibly awkward, and Ron buried his face in his arms, folded over the side of the bath. “Harry?” he asked, and it was very muffled. “You and Malfoy fucked, right?”

“Yes.” It was soft and almost gentle, but Ron still flinched.

“And… and… you don’t even like each other?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “It’s complicated.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to kiss as if they cared for you when they’re really not attracted to you at all?”

“Ron.”

“No, Harry, seriously. I… I mean, if Malfoy can kiss me and he can do whatever with you, and he can claim to me that it doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me, then that means that I could not be attracted to him, despite everything we did. Right?”

“Ron, you’re not being at all coherent, calm down, it’s alright, we can —”

He’d come closer, following the sound of Ron’s voice, and patted his shoulder awkwardly, trying to comfort him. Ron growled a little, pissed off at Malfoy and Harry and mostly himself, and reached up, twisting his fist in the back of Harry’s shirt and jerking him down, so their lips crashed together painfully. Harry yelped, startled, and Ron opened his mouth, kissing him furiously. With a helpless moan, Harry kissed him back, though without the angry heat.

It was Harry who pulled away first, panting. “Ron?” he whimpered.

“What?” Ron snarled.

“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

Moaning in sudden disgust, Ron flinched away and buried his face in his arms again, every heavy breath sounding like a rough sob in his throat. “Oh god, Harry, I’m such an idiot, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he wailed. “It was so much easier when all that mattered was drinking so much alcohol that I couldn’t remember kissing you and couldn’t think these stupid thoughts and then Malfoy had to move into my sodding house and ruin everything and it’s like I can’t even think anymore.”

Harry took a deep breath and his hand came down on top of Ron’s head, whether aiming for his shoulder or hand or something, Ron didn’t know. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Fat lot of good that does me,” Ron grumbled.

Harry laughed a bit, stroking Ron’s hair, which was, Ron decided, incredibly weird.

After a short pause, Ron sighed and said, “He is really…hot though, isn’t he?” It was said hesitantly, experimentally. He added quickly, “Malfoy, I mean.”

Harry snickered. “Well, yeah. I shagged him, didn’t I? I do have rather good taste, I like to think.” His fingers ran through Ron’s hair and it was thoroughly the weirdest thing Ron had ever experienced. It was Harry. With his fingers in Ron’s hair.

“Weird,” he whispered.

Harry let his hand drop, and Ron had a vague stirring of guilt. “Sorry,” Harry said quietly, pulling away. Ron wished he could take it back, say he was sorry, reach out and touch Harry, but he couldn’t. Maybe Malfoy could kiss thousands of people and not be attracted to any of them, but Ron couldn’t and he wasn’t. Maybe he used to be attracted to Harry, but he had the presence of mind now to admit that if he ever had been, it was an attraction borne of familiarity. Harry seemed a safe enough person to be infatuated with.

There was a rustling noise as Harry got to his feet, and a squeedging noise as Ron slid a little in the bath. “Ron… Just, for the record? Draco’s never willingly engaged in a fistfight in which both his hair and the alignment of his face were in jeopardy for anyone he wasn’t attracted to.”

Another squeedging noise as Ron shrunk away a bit, ducking his head because he had suddenly started blushing and didn’t want Harry to see, even though it was pitch black in the bathroom. “Oh,” he said faintly, and Harry snorted affectionately before letting himself out of the bathroom.

It didn’t take that long for Ron to gather his courage and leave the bathroom. The house was strangely silent, Ginny’s bedroom door wide open. She wasn’t in there and he wondered vaguely where she’d gone, but made his way down the hall to Draco’s room, which was partially ajar.

Draco was sitting on the bed, polishing his wand. Ron watched him for a long moment before clearing his throat.

He’d healed his split lip and tidied his hair, but Draco’s eyes still bore traces of the incident downstairs. They were dark with a deadly rage. “Oh, Weasley,” he sneered. “Finished with Potter already?”

“Draco,” Ron said cautiously.

Draco’s eyes narrowed warily. “Ron?” he mocked.

“I… Harry told me that you guys… Told me how you’d screwed up on that assignment.”

Draco tilted his head, studying Ron in silence. Finally, he said “Was that before or after you lied and got whacked?”

“Just before.”

“Oh.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Sorta depends. On if you only said that because of the fact that Potter’d just told you that.”

Ron shrugged, edging into the room and closing the door behind him. “I’m not sure. I suppose I was a little angry.”

Draco smiled. “Jealous, you mean?”

Snorting, Ron said, “And you weren’t jealous that Harry and I were in the bathroom together so long?”

Instantly, Draco’s eyes were shuttered. “Get out. Get out of my fucking room, Weasley.”

Ron was stung, hurt. “Draco —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But I —”

“Get out! Go back to Saint Fucking Potter if that’s what you want, just get out, I don’t want—I never wanted…just… God, if you don’t get out of here Right Now, I swear, I’ll —”

Ron took a deep breath and wished he were anywhere but here and knew at the same time that there was no where he’d rather be. He was trembling badly but decided to ignore that for the moment, reaching forward and grabbing Draco by the neck of his shirt and pulling him forward, sliding out of the way and slamming Draco against the door. Draco blinked and Ron smiled rather nervously, and when Draco opened his mouth to speak, Ron slammed his mouth over top, cutting off any words.

It was searing and furious and hot and Ron sincerely hoped Draco didn’t mind.

“You’ll what?” Ron gulped, pulling away.

“What?” Draco asked, still looking rather stunned.

“You were threatening me,” Ron prompted. “If I didn’t get out of your room, you were going to —”

“Shut up,” Draco growled, and then he was kissing Ron, that same searing heat, and somehow Ron forgot whatever it was he’d been in the middle of saying. It didn’t matter, really, because they stumbled away from the door and Draco was ripping at his clothing and somehow Draco’s shirt was undone to the waist.

Breathing heavily, Ron panted as Draco leaned down to bite his shoulder. “Draco?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Draco replied, even as they tumbled onto the bed, tangled in each other and unable to tell who was on top.

“I kissed Harry in the bathroom.”

Draco was somehow on top now, snarling and grinding down with his hips. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he chanted.

Arching against him and biting off a rather startled moan, Ron, breathing heavily, said, “No, I mean… I… didn’t… Fuck, Draco, stop it for one fucking second, I’m trying to say something here!”

Draco propped himself up on his elbows and glared down at Ron, who looked properly sheepish after his outburst. “What?” Draco snapped.

“I… Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Leave me there. With Harry, after the card game. You just left.”

Draco shrugged. “You wanted him.”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“That’s what all this is about! You wanted him, he turned you down, you hid here and moped for months, and now the object of your affections has come crawling back, why the fuck shouldn’t I have left you alone with him?” Draco looked sulky. “Besides, you obviously enjoyed it.”

“Obviously?” Ron snorted. “So much that I came running to you right after?”

Draco scowled. “Sarcasm isn’t meant to be used like that.”

“Like what? Against you?”

“No… well, yes. Shut up!” He was breathing heavily and obviously trying to hide how distressed he was. He started to climb off of Ron and, panicking, Ron rolled quickly, pinning Draco beneath him.

“Don’t… don’t go,” Ron stammered.

Draco frowned. “Right, Weasley, you’re going to have to back up a bit and tell me just what the hell is wrong with you. You and Potter, obviously, and —”

“You and Harry, too.”

“That was nothing!” Draco shouted, losing his temper. “It was so bloody, fucking nothing, alright?”

“Then this is something.” His voice was very soft.

Draco slowly shook his head. “No,” he said.

Ron smiled sadly and sat up, nodding. “Right. It’s not. I forgot. Just because you kissed me doesn’t mean you’re attracted to me.” He watched as Draco sat up, his eyes dark and shuttered. “You know, I’m not the only one with issues here, Malfoy.”

“What?” Draco didn’t meet his eyes.

“You heard me. I mean, sure, I’m terrified of all of this and practically anything, but… but I don’t shag anything that stands still long enough and then claim none of it matters.”

“You’ve stood still long enough and I’ve never shagged you,” Draco spat.

Ron flinched. He made an incoherent sort of hiccupping sound and hurriedly leapt off the bed. “But then, why would you?” he whimpered, sounding stung. He stumbled backwards towards the door, and it took an extreme force of will power to tear his eyes away from Draco.

He was still fumbling with the doorknob when Draco called his name, his voice cracking a little. Ron froze and then slowly turned back. “Ron,” Draco said again, sounding rather lost. “Don’t— I didn’t mean… I mean… Stay. Don’t… Don’t go.”

Ron swallowed hard and nodded slowly but didn’t come any closer and Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“It’s sort of funny,” Ron said after the silence grew so tense that he couldn’t stand it.

“What is?” Draco asked wearily.

“That I was the one terrified to turn this into something physical and you’re the one terrified to turn it into something emotional.”

Draco opened his eyes and his lip curled in a faint sneer, but he didn’t say anything. Sighing, Ron finally gave in and sat beside him on the bed, though they didn’t touch. He said, “I kissed Harry that time because I was drunk and it seemed safe, somehow. And maybe I liked him, I don’t know. But that was before…” He trailed off, clearing his throat.

“Before?”

“Well, yeah. Before all of this with you.”

“Weasley, you’ve got the wrong idea.” Draco sounded exhausted. “This isn’t like that.”

“Like what?”

“It isn’t a relationship, it isn’t a friendship, it’s nothing like that. I just… felt bad. About shouting at you that night, when you went out to prove you weren’t scared of things like this.”

“You felt guilty.” Ron’s voice was toneless, empty. “It was because you felt guilty. Pity.”

“Weasley. Don’t do this. It wasn’t like that either. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“You’re lying. You’re lying!” The first was said softly, and the second was loud and harsh. Ron got up off the bed, furious. “You’re even more fucking messed up than I am. You didn’t want me but you’d fuck me out of guilt? That’s disgusting!”

“Ron…” Draco reached out to touch him and Ron flinched away.

“Don’t… just don’t. How could I have been so fucking stupid? How could Draco Malfoy, the fucking king of the fucking world ever actually want to be with me as more than some fucking cheap diversion while waiting for better things to come along? You never wanted me, were never attracted to me, never needed me, could never fucking love me, and I was a fucking idiot for thinking any different.”

He’d worked himself into a fury, breathing so heavily that he was nearly hyperventilating, and was completely unprepared when Draco was suddenly standing before him, hands bracingly on Ron’s shoulders. “Listen, okay?” Draco said, very gently. “Just because I don’t love you, it doesn’t mean that I was never attracted to you. And just because I don’t need you, it doesn’t mean I never wanted you.”

“And that’s supposed to make this better?” Ron said in a voice that cracked.

Draco looked honestly confused. “This was never about that, Ron.”

“Oh, of course not, it was about you feeling guilty.”

“Ron.”

“Don’t fucking bother. Get out of my room.” His eyes flashed and he crossed his arms over his chest and dared Draco to try claiming that it was no longer his.

Draco didn’t. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Ron’s very lightly before stepping back and saying quietly, “It’s not your fault that I could never love you.”

“Whose is it then?” Ron spat sarcastically.

Draco shrugged. “Mine. I don’t know how.”

“Of course you don’t,” Ron hissed. “It’s got nothing to do with feeling for you, it’s all about getting off with as many people as you can. It’s disgusting. Get out.”

“Ron,” Draco said in a low tone, heavy with warning. “You’re trying my patience here.”

“Fine.” He shoved Draco out of the way and threw the door open, growling as he stepped into the hall.

“Fine,” Draco snarled. “If you want to throw a fit, Weasley, be my fucking guest. Come back when you’ve grown up a bit and we can have an intelligent conversation.”

Ron froze and turned around, incredulous, but before he could speak, Draco had slammed the door in his face. “That’s it,” he hissed. “That’s fucking it, I’m out of here.”

Ginny had taken refuge in her room when the shouting started and Ron didn’t care. He’d abandon his house to the whole lot of them. He’d be happy if he never had to see them, ever fucking again.

He was almost at the door when Harry grabbed his arm. Reacting on instinct, Ron whirled around and shoved him.

“Hey!” Harry snapped. “Calm down! It’s just me.”

Ron stared at him for a long moment, the fury slowly cooling to a lost sort of indignation. “I hate him,” he said, his voice cracking a bit.

“Draco?”

“I fucking hate him.” Now, he just sounded hurt and very, very young.

“Oh, fuck, Ron,” Harry said with a wince, which shouldn’t have made Ron feel any better but it did.

“I really do hate him,” he lied, and then he sobbed once.

“Aww, fuck,” Harry sighed, before pulling Ron into an awkward sort of hug that wasn’t really a hug. More like Harry was holding Ron up because Ron’s legs had given out. Ron wasn’t crying, but he was making hurt, whimpering sounds, and Harry led him into the main room and nudged him until he was sitting on the couch. “Just breathe, Ron, everything’s fine.”

“So many people think I need reminders to fucking breathe,” Ron snarled, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“Draco Malfoy happened, that’s what. Everything was fine before he showed up. He’s… he’s…” he was getting choked up again and hyperventilating and Harry sighed.

“Let me get you a drink.”

He came back a moment later with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, and handed a glass to Ron, who took it gratefully.

***

A few hours later, Ron was feeling soft, fuzzy around the edges, and very relaxed. “Alcohol makes things better,” he said to Harry, who wasn’t quite so drunk as he was.

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes a little. “You’ve had enough, Ron,” he said, prying the bottle from Ron’s hand and setting it aside. Ron just smiled agreeably.

“Draco Malfoy’s an asshole,” he chirped.

“Mmhmm,” Harry agreed, leaning back against the couch beside Ron and closing his eyes sleepily. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Ron didn’t reply. It was probably a side effect of the alcohol, but the lighting seemed dimmer, softer, and made Harry look… different. Ron’s eyes narrowed a bit as he studied the other boy’s face, and Harry opened his eyes and caught him looking. He was startled.

“What?” he asked.

“You look —” Ron began, but he didn’t finish. It seemed far easier and far more enjoyable to let himself fall forward, crashing into Harry and awkwardly trying to ensure his mouth landed at least near Harry’s. It worked, and with a muffled grunt from Harry, they were suddenly kissing, a sloppy, messy kiss that ended only when Harry managed to get a hold of Ron’s shoulders and pushed him away.

“Ron,” he panted, still looking startled.

“Don’t you want me?” Ron whimpered, eyes wide and shining.

“Aw, fuck,” Harry mumbled, and then he kissed Ron, harder and a great deal more carefully than Ron had kissed him.

“S’good,” Ron sighed into the kiss, melting against Harry and closing his eyes, content now because if Malfoy didn’t want him, at least someone did. Even if only Harry.

What had seemed strange in the bathroom made perfect sense now, with the softness of the alcohol and the strange lighting and the buzzing in Ron’s ears. What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things? Someone wanted him and Ron wanted someone and if that someone wasn’t Draco Malfoy because Draco Malfoy didn’t want him… what did it matter, who did? He was empty and lonely and hurting and if someone wanted to make that go away, who was he to say no?

“Harry?” he whispered, his eyes stinging with sudden tears.

“Mmm?” Harry breathed, because he was kissing Ron’s neck and didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Draco’s an asshole.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

He let Harry nudge him then, until he was on his back, and Harry crouching over him, muttering things under his breath and taking Ron’s shirt off. His hot tongue was licking strange patterns on Ron’s chest, which was rather nice, and Ron closed his eyes, shifting and arching a bit to make it easier.

It made sense. It was easy. It was something, which was more than Draco was willing to give him.

But somehow, it wasn’t the same.

“It could be,” Ron hissed, and Harry sat up, looking confused.

“What?”

Growling, Ron tangled his fist in Harry’s shirt and tugged him down on top of him hard, so that their lips slammed together. Kissing him furiously, a small voice in Ron’s mind was whispering that he was probably bruising Harry’s mouth, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist to pull him closer, and Harry moaned into his mouth, startled and sounding a little panicky.

“Ron, Ron, wait,” he whispered, but Ron didn’t want to wait.

He snarled and glared up at Harry. “You want me,” he said. It sounded like an accusation.

“Ron…”

“You said you did!”

“I do!”

“Prove it.”

He kissed him again, just as hot and searing, and Harry moaned in what must have been surrender as he kissed him back, his hands sliding over Ron’s chest and fumbling with the front of his trousers.

“Holy fucking shit, what the fuck are you doing?”

It took a moment to process the words, Ron had been so intent on the way Harry was kissing him that everything else seemed to fade into the background. Then, Harry yelped and leapt off the couch and Ron blinked slowly at Draco, who was standing in the doorway, looking shocked and… and almost hurt.

“You’re an asshole,” Ron told him woefully.

Draco was looking very much like a cat with its guard up, bristling and hissing and so indignant that he couldn’t think up a single thing to say. For his part, Harry was stuttering all sorts of flat excuses and looking quite sheepish. Ron rolled off the couch, only staggering a little bit as he got to his feet. Draco saw the stagger, and his eyes suddenly fell on the nearly empty whiskey bottle.

“You…you got him drunk.” He looked furious now, and the full force of that fury was directed at Harry. “You fucking got him drunk!” he shouted. Ron winced at the volume.

“You said we had to make sure he didn’t notice when we —” Harry began.

“Shut the fuck up, right fucking now, I can’t believe…” Draco trailed off, shaking his head in absolute disgust.

“It wasn’t… I was just… I thought if he drank enough, he’d be… You know… then we wouldn’t have to use the potion… and… I never meant for this to happen, I —” Had Ron been sober, he would have wondered what the hell Harry was talking about.

As it was, he grimaced. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he moaned.

“Aww, fuck,” Draco spat. “Do try to restrain yourself, Weasley. I’ll begin to think it’s got something to do with me, if you vomit twice in my presence.”

Harry was beside him suddenly, taking his arm. “Shit, Ron, I’m sorry, I’ll take care of it —”

“He got himself this way, he can take care of himself,” Draco scoffed.

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “I hate you,” he hissed. “I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!” Draco looked bitterly amused at his outburst but Ron didn’t care, because he was launching himself at Draco, knocking into him and sending both of them tumbling to the floor. Ron kept chanting, every breath nearly a broken sob, as he pounded his fists into Draco’s chest and stomach. “Hate you,” he moaned, hitting him again, gasping for breath. “Fucking hate you… don’t… don’t, please, please, don’t…”

Draco wasn’t amused any longer. For a long moment, he stared up at Ron in absolute shock, and then, when tears started running furiously down Ron’s face as he pounded him, begging him not to do something that Draco didn’t even know he had done, Draco flinched. “Shh,” he said, but Ron was too hysterical to hear. “Ron, Ron, just… calm down, stop it… Shh. Please.”

It was that last word that made Ron freeze, stinging eyes flying to Draco’s and holding for a long moment. Then Ron smoothed Draco’s shirt over his chest almost gently, as if trying to smooth over any damage he had caused. “Please don’t,” he whispered again, voice trembling.

“I don’t know what I’ve done,” Draco said softly, voice sounding sharp, about to break.

“I don’t know what I’m doing and you made it all make sense and just when I thought everything made sense, you took it all away,” Ron whimpered, and he lay his head down on Draco’s shoulder, twisting his hand in the other boy’s shirt, and closing his eyes wearily.

“Guys?” Harry called quietly, and no one cared. “I’m gonna go find Ginny…” He left, and again, no one noticed.

Draco carefully, hesitantly, brought his hands up to Ron’s shaking back. “Okay,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay.”

Ron, feeling much more sober now, lifted his head, drying his tears on the back of his wrist. He swallowed heavily and said, “I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”

“I won’t,” Draco swore. “I won’t.”

Ron searched his eyes for a long moment and then nodded slowly. He wasn’t feeling half as drunk now, and he’d run out of things to say. His eyelashes were still heavy with tears, and his lips trembling. Draco was pinned beneath him, hands on Ron’s back, and it was so, so easy to lean down and kiss him, very, very gently, and then Ron pulled away, voice shaking. “Swear you won’t take this away,” he said.

Licking his lips and looking terrified, Draco whispered, “I swear. Just… just don’t do that anymore. I shouldn’t… it’s not… we weren’t…”

He never got any further, because Ron kissed him again, swallowing the words because he didn’t want to hear them. If Draco couldn’t love him then he didn’t care whatever he had to say, as long as Draco promised not to take away the only thing that was making sense to Ron, and that this was alright. He kissed with an angry sort of determination, arms braced on Draco’s chest, lifting himself up a bit so there was space between them and they barely touched, except for the bruising and punishing kiss.

He was forcing his tongue into Draco’s mouth, roughly tracing his lips and teeth, biting and breathing so heavily that he felt like something was spilling out of his mouth and into Draco’s, and maybe it was. His anger or fear or hurt or something more, he was too incoherent to tell. But Draco didn’t mind. He moaned and let his head fall back and kissed with just as much desperation and seemed to need this as much as Ron needed to give it.

The alcohol, though most of its effects had softened now, created a pulsing, buzzing sort of feeling in Ron’s veins, or maybe that was Draco, beneath him and panting almost as wildly as Ron himself was. Ron tore his mouth away and, breathing so heavily that his arms gave out and he fell on top of Draco, he slid lower, licking and biting and sucking the hollow of Draco’s throat, and somehow, without his conscious thought, his hips were grinding down into the heat of Draco’s. Draco whimpered, startled, eyes flying wide.

“Weasley… Ron. What…” he stammered, obviously not used to being the one being touched.

“Shut up,” Ron whispered. “Just, please, Draco, don’t…”

Draco obeyed, which was just one of many miracles that night.

Instead of saying another word, he arched up against Ron and Ron tore his lips away from Draco’s throat and gasped. He couldn’t catch his breath and his vision was blurring and there was something deliciously sensual about the heavy way Draco’s eyes were looking up at him. He kissed Draco again, not angrily this time, but slowly, driving his hips down and smiling in satisfaction at every breathless sound Draco made.

“Wait…” Draco stammered, a moment later as Ron started fumbling with his trousers. Ron growled and ignored him and Draco pushed at his chest. “No, no, wait,” he said again. Relenting, Ron met his eyes impatiently. “We can’t,” Draco said.

“You want me,” Ron breathed against his lips. “I can feel it.” His hand slipped inside Draco’s trousers, and Draco’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Can’t,” he panted. “Can’t… if they come in… we’re on the floor…”

Ron relaxed a little, and licked Draco’s throat almost affectionately. “Oh,” he said. “Somewhere else then?” And Draco nodded quickly.

Getting to his feet, Ron found himself disoriented, a different sort of fuzziness than from alcohol, and Draco had to catch him, steady him. They kissed, mouths crashing together, and Draco whispered, “Upstairs.”

They went up the stairs and into the bedroom, and Draco kicked the door shut. Before Ron had time to catch his breath, he was falling backwards and landing on his back on the bed and Draco was on top of him. The only sound was their ragged breathing as Draco kissed him hard, tearing his shirt with the force of his desperation, buttons flying and hands smoothing quickly over exposed skin, without even breaking the kiss.

It was hardly graceful and Ron was surprised; he’d assumed everything about Draco would be graceful, but this was wild and fast and some sort of promise and punishment all in one, and he’d forgotten who was being punished.

Draco pulled away to tear Ron’s shirt the rest of the way off and toss it aside, and Ron sat up, leaning against the headboard and watching as Draco tore his own up over his head and dropped it to the floor. There was a look in Draco’s eyes that Ron had never seen before, a dark and unfocused, wild look, and he felt a vague sense of accomplishment for breaking down Draco’s barriers of distance and reducing him to this. He didn’t mind that somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, Draco had taken what had started as Ron’s and made it his own, because Draco was kneeling there, between Ron’s legs, and kissing him hungrily, and sliding down, over his neck and collarbone and lower, to his chest. Ron had only to melt into him, lean his head back, close his eyes, and breathe, and with every breath, his skin got tighter, his blood burned hotter.

“God,” he moaned, as Draco kissed him hard, his hands on Ron’s bare stomach.

“You’re not afraid?” Draco asked, breathlessly, as he licked the outer shell of Ron’s ear.

Ron shook his head slowly and Draco breathed, “Oh thank god,” before kissing him again and kicking his own trousers off and tugging Ron’s ankles until he was flat on his back and his trousers were off and there was nothing between them. Draco came down on top of Ron, and Ron’s eyes flew wide at the sudden heat of it. He shivered and his eyelids fluttered shut and he was completely lost in the feel of Draco’s body pressed to his.

Grazing Ron’s stomach with his teeth, Draco moaned a little against his skin, sending shivers through him, distracting him, as he slid lower. And then Ron was in Draco’s mouth and Draco’s tongue was dancing over his hot skin, sucking and licking and sliding wetly and Ron was pushing up into his mouth, gasping and tangling his hands in the sheets. Holding his hips firmly, enough to leave fingerprint bruises, Draco took him as far as he could into his mouth without gagging, and Ron let out a low, frustrated breath as Draco pulled away, falling on top of him and kissing him wildly.

He could taste himself on Draco’s tongue.

Ron was whimpering, writhing, trying to crawl out of his skin and into Draco’s, and Draco laughed softly and seemed to understand.

“Just keep breathing,” he whispered, against Ron’s sweaty temple, and he was gone for a moment and Ron didn’t understand why. Then Draco was there again, kissing his lips and his ears and his eyelids, and Ron whimpered and shifted impatiently underneath him.

He wondered if he should be scared, but couldn't seem to find the strength for that. This was nothing like anything else he had ever experienced, certainly not at all like that night with that other boy, with the awkward fumbling and bumping, which, he decided feverishly, meant that the end result would probably be different as well. Besides, he trusted... trusted that Draco wouldn't hurt him...

And so he closed his eyes and tried to stop shaking, stop worrying, and keep breathing, while Draco kissed him and whispered coaxing encouragements against his temple.

Draco kissed him on the mouth again, slowly and deeply and carefully, so carefully that Ron almost didn't notice what Draco was doing. He tensed, however, because things were going a bit too far and Draco was touching him in a different sort of way and he was quite sure he wasn't ready for that. Draco kissed him again and whispered, “Shh, relax, everything’s alright,” and the voice made him shiver and melt all at once.

Letting out a shaky breath and forcing himself to relax, Ron leaned forward and licked Draco’s lips .

“Alright?” Draco whispered, and he was shaking just as badly.

“More,” Ron nearly growled.

“Mmm.” He kissed Ron’s throat, sucking lightly and leaving a mark and the pressure was stronger and so was the urge to panic, but Ron kept focusing on Draco’s breath, feathering against his throat, and the careful strokes of his tongue over the line of Ron’s pulse.

It was a strange mixture of pleasure that made him want to shatter, and pain that made him want to cry, and Ron held his breath and closed his eyes and focused on his heartbeat and Draco’s tongue and the strange feeling of falling apart and the pain of having all his pieces jammed back together again.

“Breathe,” Draco said again, and Ron opened his eyes and stared, because Draco was leaning over him and his eyes had never been so dark and his smile never so strained. There was something more than want in his eyes, something that nearly bordered on need, and Ron reached up and touched his face, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of Draco’s eyes.

“You want me?” Ron asked, shivering.

Whimpering, Draco nodded wildly, and Ron felt the coldness inside he’d been hiding behind melt a bit. If it had been pity before, it certainly wasn’t now.

“I want—” Ron whispered, and he didn’t have to finish it, because Draco let out a long breath that brushed Ron’s throat, and then his hands slipped to Ron’s hips and he was pushing inside of him.

Ron panicked and bucked against him, and Draco kissed his temple again and again, whispering between each kiss, “I need… I want… please…”

It was the last that was more calming than anything, that one word that he had once never thought to hear from Draco’s lips, and never in such a husky, desperate voice. So Ron relaxed as best he could and Draco stroked his face and his arms and his chest as he moved inside him, stretching and stinging and Ron wondered wildly if he was being torn in half.

He strangled a whimper by biting Draco’s shoulder, and Draco froze, and then stroked his back carefully, and then his hair. “Shh,” he whispered. “Ron, are you…”

Ron just kept breathing, and Draco kept stroking his hair and holding him, until the pain faded just a little, and Ron moved experimentally against him.

Draco’s entire body tensed and he let out a trembling breath. “Is it alright?” he asked, and Ron’s eyelids fluttered, feeling heavy.

“Please,” he whimpered, and Draco’s eyes searched his carefully and then he pressed a small kiss to each of Ron’s eyelids and closed his own eyes.

“Yes,” Draco breathed, answering Ron’s weak plea.

It was hard, after that, to be afraid, or to be anything at all, really, because with each passing second, Draco was touching and shaping him, changing him into something else and Ron wasn't sure he was ready for but would not have stopped for all the world. So he lay beneath Draco and tried not to fall apart, because he felt that would be most unbecoming... Draco seemed to want it, however, and Ron moaned in distress, because Draco seemed most intent on making Ron fall apart in his arms... So he kept moving and kissing, stroking, touching, whispering, while Ron's heartbeat came faster and faster and his breathing became light, harsh gasps and he wasn't capable of anything except holding on and whimpering, and then everything was breaking, shattering, and raining down all around him and Draco was still whispering, holding him, and trembling.

Ron’s eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily through his nose, his body trembling, holding tightly to Draco’s forearms. Draco’s mouth was pressed to Ron’s throat, his arms on the pillow on either side of Ron’s head, still inside him, and everything around them seemed frozen and flat, if only when compared to the vivid heat still lazily spiraling deep inside the both.

Finally, he let out a low breath and opened his eyes, staring up at the roof. His hands of their own accord let go of Draco and started running through his hair, damp and stringy with sweat. His body ached and stung and his heartbeat was slowly, very slowly, returning to normal, but there was a cloud in his mind that made thinking or speaking or anything other than shuddering impossible.

He blinked slowly and Draco’s mouth moved against his throat as the other boy swallowed, and lifted his head. His face was flushed, his eyes dark and glazed, and he smiled vaguely down at Ron and kissed him on the mouth, just briefly, before he was pulling away. Whimpering in protest at the sudden cold, Ron was only slightly mollified when Draco only moved so that he was beside Ron and not on top of him.

They were both still panting, and Ron closed his eyes and slid closer to Draco, resting his head on the other boy’s arm and placing a small kiss on his collar bone. “Draco?” he said, sighing sweetly.

“Mmm?” Draco replied, stroking his hair.

“I don’t… I don’t really hate you.”

The hand in his hair slowed, and then kept stroking. “Shh. Just go to sleep, Weasley.”

Ron smiled a little, sleepily, and the last thing he was aware of before he drifted off to sleep, was Draco sighing and resting his chin on the top of Ron’s head.

***

It wasn’t morning. It wasn’t morning and Ron’s body ached and stung and it was cold and something was wrong and he refused to wake up, because he’d been having the warmest dream he’d ever remembered, and Draco… Draco… Oh god, Draco. His eyes flew open and Draco wasn’t there.

“Draco —” he cried, sitting up so fast that blood rushed from his head and he got dizzy. Draco was there, across the room, and he hurried to the side of the bed.

“Hush,” he said, stroking Ron’s hair. “Go back to sleep, Weasley.”

“Draco, what…” Ron mumbled, squinting sleepily and trying figure out what was going on.

“Shh. Just…” Draco fumbled for something on the bedside table and then he was holding a glass to Ron’s lips. “Drink this.”

“I… don’t drink anymore…” Ron frowned, shaking his head and spilling some of the liquid down his naked chest.

“Just drink it, love,” Draco murmured, stroking his hair again. “For me.”

Ron’s eyes met his, still sleepy and dark and confused, but he drank, draining the glass and grimacing. “Okay,” he said.

Draco smiled. “Good boy,” he said, kissing Ron’s lips lightly. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But what’s going on? Are you… I don’t want to…to sleep, I…” It was getting hard to form complete sentences, and Ron’s mind was getting fuzzier and fuzzier, the strange taste of the liquid burning in his throat; he panicked. “Draco, something’s… something’s wrong,” he whimpered, reaching forward and trying to grab onto something, anything, but everything was spinning.

Draco held both of his hands. “Hush, it’s fine,” he whispered. “Everything’s fine, I swear it.”

And Ron stared at him for a long moment and then, with a faint moan, he turned his head to the side and his eyes grew heavy and slid shut.

***

“Ron? Ron, please, wake up.”

He didn’t want to.

“C’mon, please, please, just… open your eyes. Please?” This time, the voice was accompanied by shaking, and Ron moaned, his eyes fluttering a bit.

“Ginny?” he asked, voice thick, rough.

“Oh, Ron,” she whimpered, and he finally opened his eyes. Her face was pale, eyes red and teary, and he frowned.

“Thirsty,” he whispered, wondering why his throat was so raw.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Draco said to have water ready…”

“Draco?” he struggled to sit up. “Where… where is he?”

“Shh. Drink this.”

He was still trying to sit up when she tilted the glass at his lips and he started to choke, his eyes stinging and watering. Finally managing to swallow some of the cool water, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “What happened? Last night, I remember… I…” He trailed off, heat slowly rising to his cheeks.

Ginny stroked his arm. “It wasn’t last night,” she told him softly. “It’s Tuesday. You’ve been sleeping for three days.”

Ron opened his eyes and frowned. “I haven’t. Where’s Draco?”

“He gave you a potion,” she continued, voice cracking. “To make you sleep. I wanted to tell you, Ron, I swear, but they wouldn’t let me. Draco and Harry didn’t want you to know.”

“Tell me what?”

“It was the diary. Tom Riddle’s diary. Back in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom bound me to it and him as well, so that if he was destroyed, the diary could be used to resurrect him.”

Ron shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“We went after it that night, the night that Draco gave you the potion. To Malfoy Manor. Draco figured that if we got the diary and destroyed it, then Voldemort’s last chance to rise again would be…be destroyed and everything would be better.” Ginny sucked in a ragged breath.

“We? You three? And no one told me?” Ron whispered.

“I wanted to, but Draco didn’t want you involved,” she said in a strangled tone.

“Why? Why the fuck not? If you were involved, why couldn’t I be?” He was shouting, eyes welling up with tears.

Ginny started crying softly. “They were working together to get the diary back,” she told him. “Draco had figured out about the diary and then after you were stabbed, he called Harry here to protect me while he went and found out where the diary was. At Malfoy Manor. He also found out about the girl who had stabbed you, and I think he killed her. And then he and Harry made the plan to infiltrate the manor, and they used me to distract William and the Death Eaters while they searched for it. I… pretended I’d gone back to him, that I was sorry. It was dangerous. They didn’t want you to know that they were using me, they didn’t want you to try to stop them.”

Ron was breathing heavily, trying to understand it. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling weak. “Where’s Draco now? And Harry?”

She stroked his face. “We got the diary and Harry took it to the Ministry. Draco… Ron, there’s something you don’t know. Another reason why he was here. It wasn’t just to protect me, it was for his own protection. Low profile, and all that. He was hiding from his father, because his father has been hunting him since he betrayed them and helped Harry kill Voldemort.”

“You didn’t answer. Where’s Draco now?”

She let her hand fall away from his face. “He’s gone, Ron. For his own protection. Harry’s sorting out some details at the Ministry, then they’re moving me for my own protection, just in case. Someplace to hide until all this blows over.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed, just a little too hard. “Draco. Where is he?”

“I don’t know and neither does Harry. He’s hiding, Ron. He left as soon as we got back from the manor, took all his things.”

Ron flinched, even as he wondered why he cared. In a matter of hours, things were going to go back to normal. He was going to have his house to himself again, his life was going back to the way it had been, before Draco and Ginny had come and turned everything upside down. Even so, he wanted to curl up under his blanket and cry.

“He said…” she bit her lip. “He told me that the potion would make you really thirsty and that you’d sleep for a few days, told me to watch over you…” she swallowed and smiled shakily. “And that before I let Harry take me somewhere safe, I was supposed to find all the alcohol you’ve got stashed around here and dump it and make you swear on our mother’s life that you’ll never drink again.”

Ron hardly heard a word she’d said. He felt numb and empty. He should be furious, should be screaming that he hated Draco Malfoy to anyone who would listen, for giving him that potion, for everything that had happened the night before Draco had left, for thinking that him leaving would be enough to drive Ron back to drinking… but all he wanted to do was cry.

He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t care,” he whispered.

“And he kissed you good-bye.”

He flinched. “Don’t, Ginny.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me. I don’t care what he did or where he’s gone.”

“He did. Kiss you good-bye, I mean. We got back just before dawn and Harry went straightaway to the Ministry and Draco told me he was leaving and he came in here and told me about the potion and the water and everything, then he looked at you and said something I didn’t hear to you, but you were sleeping. Then he kissed you and left without another word.”

She fell silent, waiting for some sort of response, and Ron just closed his eyes and repeated over and over to himself that he didn’t care. “I’m tired,” he told her finally.

“I’ll leave then, and let you sleep.”

“Good.”

She walked to the door and then, over her shoulder, said, “I’m sorry, Ron, I wanted to tell you before.”

He didn’t reply and, with a sigh, she left.

***

Ginny left the next day, and Harry couldn’t meet Ron’s eyes when he came to take her away. She hugged Ron and cried a little and promised to write as soon as it was safe, and then, when he couldn’t think of anything to say except “Okay,” she left quietly.

“I’ll stop by in a few days,” Harry told him, shifting uncomfortably. “To see how you are and everything.”

“Mmm.” Ron didn’t bother looking at him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.”

There was silence, and then Ron cleared his throat. “Do you… do you know where he is?”

“Ron.”

“Shut up, Harry,” he snarled. “I just wanted to know if you knew where he is.”

“I don’t.”

Ron nodded. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

He sighed. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll be fine.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something and then, shaking his head, just turned and walked away.

After Ginny and Harry had gone, Ron stood in the middle of his empty and silent living room for a long moment, staring blankly at the window. Finally, shaking his head a bit, he went into the kitchen, fetching a glass and automatically filling it with whiskey. It was only after he’d done that that he remembered what Ginny had told him Draco had said and, shaking, he threw the glass in the sink so hard that it shattered, sunk to the floor and, leaning against the cabinet, buried his face in his hands and cried.

The End of Part One

# Chapter 07

Unbecoming

Part Two: Delusion (The Unbecoming of Draco Malfoy)

Chapter Seven

It was snowing, and Ron had found he liked snowy days. He never used to, as a child, because snow meant cold, and he hated being cold. But now, snow meant quiet, and quiet was something Ron had come to find comfort in.

His boots crunched softly in the snow that covered the sidewalk as he made his way home through the darkened streets. His hands were shoved deeply in his pockets and, every now and again, he could not help but tilt his face up to the falling snow and smile a bit as a flake landed on his lips, nose, or eyelashes.

It wasn’t a long walk from work to his house, which was why he preferred to walk. It gave him time to think and enjoy the quiet.

He pulled his key out of his pocket as he came up to his London townhouse, and shook the snow out of his hair as he climbed the front steps.

He was halfway through fixing himself something to eat when there came a knock on the door, and he jumped, startled. Laughing softly at himself, he hurried to the door.

It was Hermione. She smiled at him as she stepped inside, shaking the snow from her hair. “Hey, Ron,” she said warmly, taking her coat up and hanging it. “Was in the neighbourhood, thought I’d stop by, and —”

“Hermione.”

She blinked and smiled, trying not to look guilty. “Yes?”

“You think I don’t know that since Ginny’s been gone and you’ve gotten engaged to my brother, that my mother has asked you to check on me? It is Friday night.”

She flushed. “She’s just worried, Ron.”

“She needn’t be. I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“That would be because it’s true.”

She sighed. “Ron, you live all alone, never see your family, is it any wonder she worries?”

“I live alone because it’s less complicated, and I never see my family because I’m too busy working and it’s much easier this way to avoid their attempts to set me up with any boy in the bloody country who has professed even the slightest leanings towards liking other boys.”

“They just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. Have you heard from Ginny?”

“Yes. She’s still in France with Fleur.” Hermione sighed, walking into the living room and sitting on the couch. “I still think you should at least try to see these guys people’ve been so inclined to introduce you to.”

Ron sat across from her and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It had been over a year since he’d last seen Ginny, since Harry had taken and hid her from William and the rest of them, and in that year, he felt he’d come very far. He’d moved to London, gotten himself a job that paid rather well, had even, a time or two, allowed his family and friends to fix him up with random boys, if only because they seemed so determined to prove that they supported his ‘choices’. And still, despite all the progress he’d made, his family refused to see him as anything other than a frightened boy who drank too much.

That he hadn’t had a drink in over a year, hardly seemed to matter.

“I’m fine,” he said again. “How’s Percy?” Hopefully this attempt at changing the subject would work better than the last.

“Busy. You know Percy. He knows this guy who I think you’d get along with really well--”

“Hermione. I don’t wish to discuss this.”

She slumped back into her chair and smiled ruefully. “Fine. Tell me about your job then.”

Ron had gotten a job as a sports reporter for The Daily Prophet, mainly covering Quidditch. He talked enthusiastically about his job until late, when Hermione left and he finally finished making something to eat before going upstairs to bed.

It was very quiet, and he told himself firmly that he preferred it that way. He stared emptily at the wall for a good, long time before finally drifting off to sleep, curled up in the very center of his bed.

***

The next day, Ron was to interview Oliver Wood, who was vacationing in the Northern Scotland, on a break from winter training. He was Quidditch Keeper and Captain for Puddlemere, and The Daily Prophet had arranged Portkey transportation to Scotland and given Ron instructions on where to meet Oliver and such.

Ron arrived minutes before the appointed time, at the small pub where Oliver was to meet him. He scanned the patrons of the pub quickly and, when he didn’t see Oliver, he slid up to the bar and ordered a Butterbeer.

He was sipping it thoughtfully, waiting for Oliver, when laughter from the billiard table in the back drew his attention.

He nearly dropped his mug.

Draco Malfoy stood there, head thrown back, silvery hair shining, and he was laughing at something his opponent had said. He had a pool cue in one hand and a mug of ale in the other.

Ron was up and off his stool in an instant, reacting on blind instinct, which was telling him to run before Draco saw him. He put the mug down, a bit too hard, and grabbed his jacket.

“Ron!” Oliver called suddenly from nearby, voice breathless. “Sorry I’m late, glad you’re still here, traffic was murder. I slipped in the ice right outside my house, fell right over. Nasty.” He shook the snow off his jacket, hopped onto a stool, and ordered before Ron could manage to inform him that they’d have to do the interview another time.

“Nasty weather, isn’t it?” Oliver went on, while the bartender fixed his drink.

Running was an incredibly childish thing to do, Ron decided reluctantly, refusing to look at Draco, still laughing over at the pool table. He slipped back onto his barstool and took his coat off, every movement careful and practiced. “It is,” he agreed. “Very cold.”

“Yes. So. Interview, eh? I’ve read your work for The Daily Prophet. Who knew that little Ronald Weasley would go on to be the newspaper’s Quidditch Expert?” He grinned. “Fred and George used to despair that you had no head for Quidditch.”

He smiled distractedly. “Yeah, well… They were wrong…” He was tense, terrified at any moment that Draco would see him.

Fumbling for his notebook, so at least he could get the interview over with, Ron heard more laughter from the back of the pub, and couldn’t help sneaking another look.

Even as he watched, a man came up behind Draco and wrapped an arm around his waist. Draco grinned and turned, kissing the other man hard.

Ron dropped his mug and it shattered. Before the sharp noise had faded, he spun around, face flaming, and tried to become invisible. With every eye in the pub on him, it was quite difficult, especially with his bright red hair.

“Are you alright?” Oliver asked, frowning.

Ron leapt off his stool. “I’ll be right back,” he stammered, grabbing his coat and hurrying towards the door. He felt ill, and no longer cared if running was childish. He did not want to be here, with Draco Malfoy making out with another boy and laughing like Ron had never existed. It didn’t matter if it had been over a year since Draco had left, Ron had survived by forgetting Draco had ever existed at all, and now he couldn’t pretend any longer.

Draco caught him at the door. “Ron? Ron!” he snapped, grabbing Ron’s wrist after Ron pretended not to have heard him.

Slowly, Ron turned around, trying for a polite smile. “Yes? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Eyes narrowing, Draco studied his face. He didn’t seem to know what to say. “What are you doing here?” he said finally, after the silence grew even more awkward.

“Meeting someone,” Ron said, glancing over Draco’s shoulder at where the other boy was coming towards them.

“You looked like you were on your way out.”

“Mmm. For a cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

There was another short silence, broken by the other man’s voice. “Draco? What is it?” He was tall, broad shouldered, pretty, if it came to that, though Ron thought his lips too thin and his eyes too close together.

“Nothing, I was just…” Draco shook his head, glancing at Ron again, looking a little confused. Ron felt a bit of smug satisfaction that at least now, Draco was having trouble figuring him out. “Meeting who?”

Ron blinked. “Uhmm,” he said.

And then Oliver was there, holding his coat, and asking politely, “Are we going somewhere else to finish this then, Ron?”

Ron beamed brightly at him and grabbed his hand, ignoring Oliver’s rather owlish blink. “We are,” Ron told him, smiling apologetically at Draco. “You know how it is.”

“Ron, what… I’m not… We’re not… Dude, I like gi—” Oliver began, looking worried, and Ron closed his eyes, braced himself, and shut him up by kissing him on the lips.

When Oliver had been silenced to a startled gurgle, Ron looked over his shoulder at Draco, who was scowling furiously, and the other man, who looked politely confused, and said, “I’ve really gotta go, Draco. See you later?”

He pulled Oliver out the door before the other boy regained his power of speech, and as soon as the door closed behind them, he launched into an elaborate apology, getting more and more hysterical with every word.

“—I didn’t mean to, I swear, Oliver, only I didn’t know he’d be there, with that guy and I had to do something to make it hurt less and I shouldn’t have and I’m so so sorry and I know it was horrible and you don’t like me like that and I certainly don’t like you like that and—”

Oliver, who was getting over his shock now, interrupted and said, “Ron. Honestly, calm down, you don’t think worse has ever happened in Quidditch changing rooms?”

Ron blinked and flushed a bit, even while quickly wondering if his editors would go for his suggestion of a story on what exactly went on in professional Quidditch changing rooms.

Oliver laughed. “Forget it, mate. I won’t even ask what all that was about. Come to my flat for the interview then, unless you prefer to do it out here in the cold.”

“N-No,” Ron stammered. “Your flat’s good.”

Smiling, Oliver turned to lead the way, and Ron followed, still stunned and suffering wild fantasies of Quidditch changing rooms.

They did the interview in Oliver’s living room, and after they had finished, Oliver leaned back and said, “You know, I know a nice bloke you might like, seeker for my team.”

Ron flinched. “Thanks, but I… I don’t want… I mean, just because… I’m just… not interested.”

“Are you sure?” He grinned devilishly. “He’s quite attractive. In my heterosexual male opinion, of course. I mean, if I was into that sort of thing…” He trailed off suggestively.

Ron groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Oliver,” he pleaded. “Shut up.”

Laughing, Oliver said cheerfully, “Just a suggestion, mate.”

“You know, I almost would have thought that once people knew that I didn’t like girls, all these wild attempts to fix me up with people would stop.”

“It’s not our fault,” Oliver said brightly. “It’s just that so many gay men are such nice blokes, we can’t help but think that they should get together. You know, two gay men are better than one.”

Frowning skeptically, Ron said slowly, “Oliver, are you sure you’re not gay?”

A slow smile spread over Oliver’s lips and he said casually, “I don’t kiss and tell, Ron.”

Ron returned home with the newfound knowledge that Oliver Wood had lost his mind.

***

The next few days were strange for Ron, who was torn between confusion over Oliver Wood’s apparent insanity and Draco’s unexpected and rather sudden appearance, which had torn Ron’s perfectly sterile and structured life upside down. What was it about Draco Malfoy that made the most routine, normal life, a life which had been perfectly satisfying before, seem completely empty and boring?

He wrote up the interview and submitted it to his editors and spent the week in his office, filtering through new assignments and trying not to think about Draco.

It was a thoroughly frustrating week.

Fred and George came to visit on Friday, on his mother’s request, only instead of cornering him at home and forcing him to listen to her lectures, they took him out for a drink. Ron didn’t drink anything stronger than Butterbeer any longer, so they bought him plenty of those, all the while going on and on about his interview with Oliver Wood.

They didn’t bother trying to fix him up with any of their male friends, thankfully, though at the end of the evening, Fred confided rather sheepishly that he and Alicia had decided to get married.

Ron stared at him blankly and then said, rather stupidly, “Alicia the Chaser?”

“The one and only,” George said brightly. “Fred’s moving out, too, thankfully. Still working at the joke shop though.”

“And you?” Ron asked him. “Are you getting married?”

“Hardly. Last thing I need’s a ball and chain.” He grinned affectionately at Fred.

“He’s got a girlfriend though,” Fred said helpfully, shoving George.

“Do you?” Ron squeaked. Fred and George, as far as he knew, had always been too busy causing mischief to have girlfriends. It was all a bit shocking and left Ron feeling more alone than ever.

***

Ron had nearly gotten over seeing Draco again by the end of the next week. It’s not like it had been all that memorable an occasion, really, except that the image of Draco kissing that other boy kept flashing in Ron’s mind over and over again. But still, the sick feeling in his stomach had all but disappeared, and he was able to smile and laugh for nearly hours at a time.

And so Friday came again, and with it, anticipation of another visit from whomever his mother had chosen to send this week. It was snowy and cold, a blizzard had blown up from somewhere, and he could barely see three feet from his windows. He was in the kitchen making hot cocoa and listening to the wind blowing fiercely outside, when the expected knock came on the door.

Smiling ruefully, he left the cocoa (he’d made an extra mug for whomever the visitor was) and marshmallows on the table in the living room and opened the door.

At first he couldn’t tell who it was who stood on his doorstep, wrapped in a heavy cloak with the hood up. He frowned and opened the door wider, so light from the hallway bathed the doorstep, and then he yelped. It was Draco, face paler than normal, eyes bright. He smiled a little.

“Fucking cold out here, Weasley, let me in.”

Ron instinctively moved to slam the door in his face and Draco’s foot slid forward to block it. “Please, Weasley?” he asked, softer now.

Eyes very narrow, Ron spat, “Why should I?”

“You shouldn’t. But I would very much appreciate it if you did.”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“Weasley. Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any choice.”

That just made Ron want to slam the door even more. “Fuck off,” he snapped, and pushed hard on the door, nearly crushing Draco’s foot.

“I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Ron slowly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I don’t care,” he said carefully. “Where’s your boyfriend?” he sneered.

Draco tilted his head a bit, knocking the hood off his head. There was dried blood on the left side of it, trailing from a nasty wound on his left temple. “He’s dead,” he said quietly. “So is my father.”

Wincing, Ron took an instinctive step forward, mentally crying Oh poor Draco, come in, come in, are you okay, oh, don’t cry, it’s alright, you’re safe now, poor darling Draco and taking Draco into his arms. Outwardly, he just stood there and watched the other boy, swallowing heavily and forcing himself not to move. He didn’t know what Draco wanted from him, but Draco had never wanted clingy arms, hugs, or comfort.

Besides, saying any of that would immediately give Draco the impression that Ron cared.

Draco just waited, staring at him with empty eyes, yet somehow looking expectant all the same. He shivered a bit, and Ron sighed, turning and walking away, leaving the door open in silent invitation.

He went into the living room and sprinkled marshmallows into both his and the other mug of cocoa while Draco took his cloak off and hung it in the closet. When Draco had taken the seat opposite, accepted the mug of cocoa thankfully, and took a cautious sip, Ron asked, “So what happened?”

Draco set the mug down and leaned back, looking weak and exhausted. “I guess they found me,” he said, shrugging. “My father and all the rest. Doesn’t matter.”

“Found you? Wasn’t so hard, I managed to do it.”

“It wasn’t in Scotland that they found me. That night that you and Wood ran into us, we left. Went to China,” he said.

“Because two pretty white boys wouldn’t stick out in China,” Ron said sarcastically.

Draco didn’t comment. “Then we went to Africa, and then Italy. Moving around a lot is essential. Then, even if they do find me, I’m gone before they catch up. But they did, in Italy. I came in after they’d killed him, my father was waiting. I killed him, and escaped before his men could catch me.”

Ron shifted a little, watching Draco carefully for any hint of the hysteria that had to be lurking there. He seemed so calm though, and Ron didn’t know how to proceed. “What was his name?” he asked finally, carefully.

“Lucius.”

Ron twitched. “Not him, Draco.”

Draco smiled a bit, though he didn’t look all that amused. “I know. His name was Sean.”

There was another silence, this one more contemplative, and Ron finally got to his feet and went into the kitchen. He fetched some warm water and a cloth, before returning to the living room and sitting beside Draco. “I’ll clean the blood up and then get you a pillow and blanket. You can sleep on the couch.”

“Mmm,” Draco said wordlessly, smiling a tiny bit and tilting his head to give Ron better access.

There was dried blood all the way down the side of his head and neck, and Ron gently started sponging it off. “How did this happen?” he asked carefully, to distract himself from studying the curve of Draco’s neck.

“I killed my father,” Draco said, sounding rather dazed and sleepy. Ron’s touch was putting him to sleep. “I killed him and his body was on the ground and the others came. Father had shouted just before he died and they heard and came running. The Killing Curse, that’s how I did it.”

He was rambling a bit, and Ron was a little relieved at the first sign that Draco wasn’t handling this coolly. It had been unnerving, to be honest. “And they tried to catch me and one of them had caught the hem of my robes. I fell and smashed my head and before they could fall on me and pin me, I cast a fire charm and set the room on fire. I Apparated away before they had time to stop me.”

“Mmm, then you came here?”

“No,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. The blood was mostly gone, but Ron kept stroking. “I went to Hogsmeade. You didn’t live there anymore.”

“I moved to London.”

“That’s what Harry said.”

Ron’s hand slowed. “You went to Harry?”

He shrugged. “You weren’t in Hogsmeade and Harry was. I was bleeding and it was cold… He told me where to find you.”

“Why didn’t you stay there? With Harry?” Ron bit his lip and gently washed the jagged gash on Draco’s temple again.

“I wanted to be with you,” Draco said quietly.

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before standing up. “I’ll get a blanket,” he said.

“It might not be safe, having me here. I don’t know who all survived the fire, but they’ll be after me.”

Ron looked at him in silence for a long moment, and then said, “Some people are worth risking everything for, Draco. If you had have asked me over a year ago, I would have said the same.”

He left before Draco could reply, fetching him a pillow and blanket.

He watched while Draco curled up on the couch, looking tired and worn, and then said, “Are you alright? Do you need help sleeping? If you tell me how to make a sleeping potion, I’ll make one for you. I hear you’re quite good at them.” Bitterness dripped from his voice.

Draco flinched. “Ron, I —”

“You’re alright, then? See you in the morning.” He turned and left without another word.

It was a long time before he got to sleep, though. Curled up in the center of his bed and staring blindly at the window, he was aware of every sound downstairs, though there weren’t that many. And even as he listened with every fiber of his being, his mind was whirling with memories he’d been trying to forget for over a year.

It was impossible, and he whimpered despairingly and buried his face in his pillow, covers up over his head, before he finally fell asleep.

***

Ron woke up and decided that Draco had probably slipped away in the middle of the night. He lay in bed silently for a long time, listening for any indication that he was wrong, and then got up. He pulled on some trousers (he’d given up on practical cotton pajamas a long while ago), and ran a hand through his hair, going downstairs quietly, just in case.

He peeked into the living room and stared. Draco was still there.

Shaking his head in a confused sort of way, he went into the kitchen, poured himself some orange juice, and sat at the table, staring out the window. It was early, and thankfully, he didn’t have to work.

He was watching the pulp swirl in his orange juice when he heard a soft moan from the living room. He approached the doorway cautiously. Moaning again, Draco turned restlessly on the couch, still sleeping. He was having a nightmare.

Setting his juice aside. Ron hurried to his side. “Draco?” he called. “Draco, wake up, wake up, it’s just a nightmare.”

Draco woke up so suddenly that Ron yelped. The other boy’s face was pale, eyes wide and wild. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he groaned, sitting up quickly.

Grabbing his hand, Ron hurriedly pulled him into the bathroom, slipping out and closing the door after Draco started vomiting. When he had stopped, Ron glanced inside nervously. “Are you alright?”

Draco was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, still looking wild. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I think you’re going into shock,” Ron said soothingly, coming inside and sitting beside him.

“Malfoys don’t go into shock,” Draco told him.

“It’s alright,” Ron whispered, because Draco was nearly hyperventilating. “It was just a bad dream.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and nodded wildly. “I kept killing him,” he said, voice husky. “In the dream. Only he wouldn’t die.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Ron said softly, not even sure Draco was listening. He slid closer, shaking fingers threading through Draco’s messy hair. “It’s over, you’re safe now.”

Draco’s eyes flew open and he swallowed hard. “I know. I’m alright.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not! I’m fine, I’m fucking fine, I just…” he trailed off, and he was nearly panting now, trying to breathe.

“C’mere,” Ron sighed, pulling him closer. Draco fell against him, his head landing on Ron’s shoulder, eyes squeezing shut. Stroking his back, Ron smoothed his hair and closed his own eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting out a careful breath as Draco slowly relaxed against him.

“I’m dizzy,” Draco mumbled plaintively.

“It’ll pass.”

“I really am okay.”

“I know.” Ron didn’t let go and Draco didn’t try to pull away, all the same. A little while longer passed, and Ron asked, “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”

“Mmm,” Draco mumbled, shaking his head and letting out a careful breath. “Warm,” he whispered, after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Shut up, it’s fine.”

They sat that way for a long while, until Draco finally pulled away, reluctantly. “It’s not safe. I should leave.”

Ron flinched. “You’re not going,” he told Draco, shaking his head furiously. “I won’t let you go.”

“It’s dangerous for me to be here.”

“I don’t care.”

Draco shot him a furious glare. “Don’t you get it? It could have been you.”

“What?”

“Dead. Sitting there, dead, when I got home. If I hadn’t left you, Ron, it would have been you.”

Ron shivered and said stubbornly, “It wasn’t. You need me.”

“Ron…”

“You can’t go! You’re a mess! You’re shaking and weak and—”

“I’m not. I have to go…”

“You leave me again, and I’ll go after those Death Eaters myself. I don’t care if it kills me, I can’t just let you go. You’ll be killed.”

Draco buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath. “I won’t put you in danger.”

Ron reached out, hand trembling, and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Stay. At least for a little while. I’d worry if you left like this.”

“When I got here, you weren’t even going to let me in,” Draco said quietly. “Now you won’t let me go?”

“Please.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know.”

“No, listen to me. I’m not falling apart. I don’t need you. This… this was just a momentary lapse, it won’t happen again.”

“It’s alright. Just let me make sure you’re okay this time before you leave.”

Draco studied him for a long moment, before he nodded once, though he was scowling. “For a day or so. I can’t stay longer. I… don’t want them to hurt you.”

Ron got to his feet and pulled Draco up as well. “No one knows you’re here, except Harry, and he won’t tell. You’ll be alright here…”

Without bothering to reply, Draco turned the tap on and splashed water on his face. Ron left him to it, going into his bedroom. He was shaking and didn’t know why.

Draco hadn’t arrived with anything else to wear, so Ron rummaged through his things and came up with some trousers he’d outgrown and a t-shirt that had always been too tight on him. He went back into the bedroom.

“You can wear these,” he said. “They’re too small for me, so they might fit.” He stood awkwardly in the doorway while Draco stared at his clothes in shock and waited for the other boy to say something derogatory about them.

He didn’t. “Thank you,” he said, taking them.

Ron nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

When Draco arrived in the kitchen a short while later, wearing Ron’s clothes, the change was drastic. He looked like a little boy, in the faded jeans and old shirt, not at all the man he always appeared to be, wearing his own tailored clothing. He shifted uncomfortably when he caught Ron staring.

“Where’s Oliver?” he asked.

Ron blinked, mind going completely blank. “Who?”

“Wood. Oliver Wood.”

“I don’t— why should I…Oh. Oh! Oliver.” He flushed a little. “Umm. He’s in Scotland, actually.” Draco just looked at him expectantly, and Ron sighed. “Right. He’s in Scotland. Until that night, I hadn’t seen him since he left Hogwarts. I was interviewing him for The Daily Prophet.”

Draco smiled a little, slipping into a chair at the table. “Ha,” he said mildly. “You were trying to make me jealous.”

Flushing a bit, Ron said, “I wasn’t. It was self-preservation. It… had taken months to stop waiting for you to come back, looking for you every time I left my house, and then suddenly you were there and you were…kissing someone else.” He sat across from Draco, tracing veins in the wooden tabletop and swallowing hard.

He jumped a bit when Draco’s finger hesitantly stroked the top of his hand. “Ron,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t come back.”

Nodding and pulling his hand away, Ron shrugged and then asked softly, “Did you love him?”

Draco laughed harshly. “You of all people should know the answer to that.”

“I should?”

Turning away, Draco rolled his eyes. “If I couldn’t even fall for you, how’m I supposed to fall for anyone else?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Ron didn’t want this, didn’t want words that could tell him how stupid he’d been before, how naïve. He didn’t want to wish things had turned out differently. “I thought it was because of me,” he said jerkily, getting out of his chair. “We… we slept together and then you poisoned me and left and I never saw you again.”

Draco looked a little stricken. “That wasn’t it!” he whispered.

“Well forgive me for assuming it was,” Ron growled, shaking his head furiously and stalking from the room.

“Ron. Ron, wait!” Draco called, but Ron didn’t bother. He slammed out the front door and walked for three blocks before his fury and frustration wore off.

He didn’t know if he could do this, could stand seeing Draco’s face and hearing his voice and why, why, why did it have to remind him of that night he’d tried so fucking hard to forget? But he couldn’t let Draco go. Maybe Draco didn’t know it, but he needed someone. Ron just didn’t know if he was strong enough to be who Draco needed.

But then, maybe Draco would solve his problem by leaving while Ron was gone?

That thought did not offer the comfort he was looking for, and before he knew it, Ron was hurrying home.

Draco hadn’t left, he was sitting on the couch, knees pulled up and head leaning back, eyes closed. He didn’t move when he heard Ron come in, and for a long moment, Ron just stared at him. Then he cleared his throat.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you alright?”

Draco’s eyes opened and he turned his head, rolling his eyes. “I’m not breakable, Weasley.”

“I know.” He came in and sat nervously beside Draco. “I was worried you’d leave while I was gone.”

“Couldn’t.”

Ron studied him for a moment and then said, “Why not?”

“Because if I had, it really would have been because of you this time, and if thinking I’d left last time because of you has made you this bitter, if I did it again, you’d be unrecognizable by the time I saw you again.”

“You’ve changed,” Ron said quietly, and Draco smiled wryly.

“So have you.”

“That night…” Ron flushed a bit, clearing his throat.

“Yes, Weasley?” Draco drawled, smirking.

“The night that we… we had sex…” He looked away. “I meant to ask you something…” He trailed off and then, voice husky and nervous, he said, “I…I didn’t know what I was doing, and I was worried that I… It wasn’t… good and —”

“Weasley.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Ron obediently snapped his mouth shut, strangely reassured by Draco’s reply. He smiled a little and looked away, relaxing against the back of the couch before darting another quick glance at Draco. “So you’ll stay?” he asked.

There was a long pause, and then Draco said quietly, “For two days. I’ll stay for two days. That’s long enough for you to reassure yourself that I’m going to be alright. I can’t stay here any longer, London’s too obvious.”

“Alright,” Ron agreed softly, because two days was more than Draco had been willing to give him the last time he left. “Does anyone other than Harry know you’re here? Will he tell the Ministry, do you think?”

“I told him not to. I don’t want anyone to know where I am. The less people that know, the better. Sean was… a mistake.” Draco scowled furiously. “It was my fault, I grew comfortable. It had been a year without any hint that they were still after me, I grew careless and he died for it. I didn’t even tell him they were looking for me…” He shook his head. “It won’t happen again.”

“Why? I don’t understand why they care so much if you want nothing to do with them!”

Draco glanced at him and sighed. “I betrayed them,” he said.

He wouldn’t say anything more, and Ron reluctantly let the subject drop.

It was late afternoon when Ron grabbed his cloak and said, “I’m going to Diagon Alley to get some things, stay here, alright?”

Draco, who was sprawled on his back on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn, grunted wordlessly.

“I’ll be back soon. An hour at most, I think. Will you be alright?”

Snorting, Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said.

Nodding, Ron hurried out the door, determined to finish his errands quickly and return.

When he got back, Draco was sleeping on the couch, popcorn forgotten on the floor.

Rolling his eyes and smiling a bit, Ron picked up the bowl and brought it to the kitchen, before quietly working at the table, writing up an article due the following day. After he finished it, the sun had just set, and he sent it off with Pig to his editor before going into the kitchen. He worked until it was very late, brewing up complicated potions as quietly as he could, listening intently to make sure Draco did not wake up. When he was done, he charmed the cauldrons clean and sneaked upstairs to bed.

Draco slept like the dead.

***

A few hours passed, and Ron was lost in some dream he would never remember, when the door flew open and light spilled in from the hall.

“Ron? Ron! Are you in there?” Draco called, voice strange and wild.

Grunting and moaning in protest, Ron flinched away from the light. “No,” he groaned.

“You’re awake?”

“No,” Ron said again, disgruntled. He sat up and squinted at Draco. “What the hell—” Then he noticed how heavily Draco was breathing, and that he was shaking. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Draco said distractedly. “I just…” He ran a hand through his already wild hair. “Wanted to make sure you were here. I didn’t see you come in. I was…” He trailed off.

“Worried?”

“Scared.” Draco looked uncomfortable at the very idea. “It’s stupid. But ever since my father, and Sean, I… wake up thinking that everything that means anything is going to go away, and that it’ll be my fault, and that I shouldn’t sleep because if you don’t go to sleep, no one can take the things that matter most because they only do it when you’re not there to see. You know?”

Ron didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Calm down,” he whispered. He would have gotten up, gone to Draco, but he had long ago given up on decent cotton pajamas and was wearing nothing but his boxers and did not want Draco to see.

“And so when I’m asleep, I get scared, and when I’m scared, I start to remember, and I don’t much like remembering, to be honest, because… I didn’t love him, but I didn’t want him to die.”

“Sean?”

“My father.”

“Oh.”

Draco sucked in a ragged breath. “He died, though. They both died. Because of me. And I don’t want anyone else to die because of me, especially you.”

Ron blinked and tried to process the meaning of that, but his mind was still fuzzy from sleep.

“And then I woke up and it was dark and you weren’t there and I hadn’t seen you come in and I was scared you wouldn’t be here and if you weren’t, it would be my fault, for falling asleep and letting you go, and I couldn’t… couldn’t…”

“Draco… Draco, breathe. It’s alright, I’m fine, really.”

“But I’m not,” Draco whispered. “I think I’m broken, and I fucking hate it. I don’t… like being scared.”

“No one likes being scared. But it’s okay. Come here.” Though it made him nervous, and though he had decided that he wasn’t going to let Draco near him again, Ron held out a shaky hand to him, and Draco, after a moment’s hesitation, came forward to take it. The hall light cast him in shadow, and his hand was warm and soft in Ron’s. “Come here,” Ron said again, shifting over and tugging Draco onto the bed. “Lie here, with me. That way, you’ll know even when you’re asleep that no one’s come for me, because you’ll feel me.” He took a deep breath. “Just don’t… don’t touch me, you know? I don’t want… I can’t… not with you. Not ever again.”

Draco let Ron pull him into the bed, and then whispered softly, “Ron? Can I kiss you? Just once?”

Closing his eyes and letting out the breath he’d been holding as Draco’s weight settled beside his, Ron said, “Just once,” almost in a whimper.

The kiss was just barely a kiss. The softest brush of lips and the whisper of eyelashes against Ron’s cheekbones, and then Draco turned away, stretching out beside him. “Thank you,” he said very quietly.

Ron didn’t reply, and he held his breath for a long, long time, lying very stiffly as far from Draco as he could get. And then, gradually, he crept closer, unable to really help himself, until he was curled up against Draco’s back. One arm slipped around Draco’s waist and Draco’s hand instinctively took his, fingers entwining, and Ron fell asleep with his face buried in Draco’s silky hair.

# Chapter 08

Unbecoming

Chapter Eight

Ron woke first, but did not even bother trying to leave the bed. He could only imagine how Draco would react to that, and instead, lay very, very still, listening to Draco’s breathing, until the sun had risen and the room was bathed in light.

“Draco?” he finally whispered, because he really had to go to the bathroom.

Draco sighed quietly. “Yeah?”

“Hey. How long have you been awake? Damn it!” Ron growled, rolling away and leaping off the bed. He hurried from the room, so desperate to use the bathroom that he forgot about Draco seeing him in his boxers.

When he returned to the bedroom a short while later, Draco was propped up in the bed, leaning against the headboard, his knees pulled up to his chest. He smiled a little ruefully. “I wanted to keep holding your hand,” he offered, by way of explanation.

Ron lost his temper. “Fuck you, Draco Malfoy, you think you can walk out right after we fuck for the first fucking time and not see me or talk to me for an entire fucking year or even longer and then you can just walk back into my life and expect everything to be the same? It’s not the same and I’m not that fucking stupid anymore. If anything, you taught me that.”

Draco glanced away, shrugging and fumbling in his pockets for a crushed pack of cigarettes. “I taught you more than that,” he said in a low, husky tone, and Ron, without pausing to consider, launched across the bed and crashed into Draco, knocking him to the floor.

He slammed his fist into Draco’s chin, and the cigarette package went flying. Desperately trying to defend himself, Draco snarled, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Ron gasped, as he was flipped onto his back and smashed into the floor. “You left. You did teach me more than that, you’re right. You taught me… that it was okay to be this way…” he grunted and slammed his knee into Draco’s stomach. “And that it was even almost normal and that it was okay to… to maybe…” he yelped because Draco had smashed his head into the floor again, and they rolled, Ron pinning Draco… “You also taught me that it might be okay to love another guy,” he said quietly.

“Also taught you how to suck cock,” Draco sneered, and Ron winced.

“You did,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “And you taught me that you get terrified and cruel whenever anyone implies that they could love you. And you taught me how fucking easy it would be. And then you left me. You promised you wouldn’t take it all away…” He shook his head, disgusted, and rolled away. He ached, and his nose was bloody, his head pounding.

They lay on their backs on the floor together in silence for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, not touching, but so close that they could feel each other’s body heat.

Finally, Draco said quietly, “Do you hate me that much then, Ron?”

Swallowing hard and wiping his bloody face with the back of his hand, Ron replied, “Would it make things easier if I did?”

Silence seemed to stretch on forever, and Ron hissed in irritation, getting to his feet. He swayed dizzily.

“I’m gonna go,” Draco said.

Ron spun to stare at him. “You aren’t.”

“You don’t want me here.”

“You promised me two days, Draco, you can’t leave now. Are you in a habit of breaking all your promises, or just the ones you give to me?”

Draco winced. “Fine. Fucking perfect, I’ll stay then!” he snapped. Rage sparked in his eyes and he stalked past Ron, snarling under his breath.

Ron reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging, and Draco turned around. Before he could guess Ron’s intention, Ron kissed him on the mouth, tracing his lower lip with his tongue. “Thank you,” he said, pulling away.

Looking a little stricken, Draco stammered, “Ron, you can’t make the rules only to break them.”

“But Draco, you taught me that as well.” With a slight smirk, Ron slipped past and left the room.

***

Draco sulked all day, but he didn’t try to leave again, which was really all that mattered. Ron busied himself writing letters, to his editor and his brothers and his mum, and then, in late afternoon, started making dinner nervously. Draco sulked in the living room, and when Ron had finished cooking, he said, “I’m not hungry,” crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

“What is this, a hunger strike?” Ron asked nervously, his hand shaking while holding the glass of butterbeer he’d brought Draco. “You have to eat.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Draco, you’re acting like a five year old, just eat, alright?”

Stalking across the room, Draco took the glass, downed it, and slammed it on the table. “Not hungry,” he snarled.

Smiling a little, even as he stepped away, Ron said, “Well, that’s fine, as long as the drink’s gone.” He hurried away, guilt nearly making him ill.

He was in the kitchen, nervously picking at his own dinner, when he heard a dull thud and a moan. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath, and then hurried into the living room.

Draco was lying on his back on the floor, staring bemusedly up at the ceiling as if wondering how he’d ended up on the floor.

“C’mon,” Ron said very gently. “Get up. Sit on the couch.”

Moaning again, Draco shook his head, even as Ron took his hand and tugged him until he was sitting up. “Dizzy,” Draco croaked.

“Yes, c’mon, on the couch.” Ron pulled him to his feet and helped him stagger over to the couch, sitting him down carefully. “Don’t move, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He started to move away, but Draco grabbed his hand. “What… what did you give me?” he said, every word terribly slurred. It was the last bit of anything resembling coherency that he could manage.

Stroking his face and smoothing his hair, Ron whispered, “You’ll be fine, it’ll wear off come morning. You didn’t think I’d let you leave me again, did you? Just stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Draco looked as though he wanted to argue, but it was too much, and with a soft whimper, he fell over and lay dazed on the couch.

Hurrying upstairs, Ron threw a bunch of clothes and toothbrushes and such into a bag, and then came back down, where Draco was still sprawled on the couch. He helped him up, grabbed their cloaks, and led Draco to the door, locking it behind him.

It was dark outside, and they staggered to the nearest Muggle bus stop. Ron talked the whole way, though Draco didn’t understand a thing he was saying.

“They won’t expect us to take the Muggle bus,” Ron said to Draco, who was leaning heavily on his shoulder. “They won’t be able to trace us this way.”

The bus came, and Ron helped Draco, who was staggering badly, up the steps, nervously counting out Muggle coins and pushing them into the coin slot. He’d taken the bus a few times on his own, to get to the Ministry or various places to meet people for his interviews and such, so he knew what he was doing, vaguely.

“He’s not going to puke on the bus, is he?” the driver asked, looking skeptically at Draco, who did look rather drunk.

“He’ll be fine,” Ron said quietly, before helping Draco to a seat at the back of the bus.

It was late, and the bus was practically empty, except for the odd unsavory person who got on, fell asleep in their seat, and got off near some dark alley. Knowing that they were in for quite a long ride, Ron rolled up his cloak and made a pillow for Draco, nudging him until he was lying down.

He studied him for a little while, chewing his lower lip and worried that he’d brewed the Disorientation Potion too strongly. Draco seemed only barely conscious.

“Hey.”

Ron jumped, turning towards the man that had spoken. “Yes?” he asked nervously. He didn’t make a habit of speaking to men like that, men who seemed held together by rags and filth, and who smelled strongly of alcohol and dark alleys.

“Who’s that?” The man jerked his head towards Draco.

“He’s my… my friend,” Ron stammered, sliding protectively closer to Draco.

“He’s drunk.”

Ron didn’t reply. He glanced at Draco and then back at the filthy man, and waited for him to speak again.

“Must be a pain in the arse, having to baby-sit him.”

“What are you implying?” Ron asked cautiously. Draco moaned beside him.

“Just that maybe you and I can work something out.” The man lurched from his seat and sat beside Ron, who recoiled from his filth and his smell. “He never has to know.”

Ron’s eyes widened, and he said shakily, “I’m not gonna s-suck… I’m not giving you… a… a blow….”

The man blinked and then laughed. “Not you,” he snickered, breath hissing sickly between teeth that were barely there. “Him. He’s so out of it, he’ll never know, and I’ve got… got money. And other stuff…” He held up a grimy bag, filled with white powder, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Ron stared at him and then spun towards Draco, horrified. “I’m not selling him to you, if that’s what you mean!” he cried. “Piss off! That’s disgusting. Besides, if I wanted sugar, I’d have brought some from home. Do you Muggles honestly value sugar over your own friends’ lives? That’s disgusting! Get away from me!”

The man scowled. “It’s not sugar,” he said defensively, hiding the bag away. “And I wouldn’t have him for too long.”

“I don’t care what it is, get away, you’re not going to get even a second with him! Bugger off!”

“Jealous I didn’t want you?”

Ron’s wand was out of his pocket and pressed against the man’s throat in a heartbeat. “If I kill you,” he snarled, between gritted teeth. “No one would miss you or care.”

“You’re going to kill me with a wee little stick, are you?”

“Muggles are disgusting,” Ron growled, before casting a full-body bind. At the next stop, he tossed the man out the door of the bus, feeling immensely satisfied at the dull thump of the body hitting the pavement.

Crawling back onto his seat next to Draco, Ron sighed, feeling immensely dirty. “I expect a full thank you for that,” he grumbled, curling up next to Draco. “You’re so fucking pretty, you bring this on yourself, you know.”

After that, whenever anyone else got on the bus, Ron would straighten up and do his best to look threatening. No one bothered them again.

They got off the bus at the train station and took a train out of London, heading north. Ron spent all the rest of his savings getting them a private car with a bed, and Draco passed out sometime near dawn, sleeping off the last remains of the potion. They got off the train in the middle of nowhere, at a station that consisted of a single platform and a small shack, and Ron cast a lightening charm on Draco’s sleeping body and carried him, and the bag of clothes, out of the station and down the road. Any civilization quickly disappeared, and as the sun rose weakly, Ron stumbled nearly blindly through the forest surrounding the tiny town where they’d gotten off the train. He knew where he was going, of course, it was just… he hadn’t been there in a very long time. He had to cross a frozen lake, which creaked softly under his feet and made him incredibly nervous.

Finally, he found the small house he’d been looking for, and cast the secret unlocking charm on the door, letting himself in. It was dusty and dirty and smelled quite musty, but it was better than being set upon by Death Eaters. Dropping the bag by the door and hurriedly putting Draco in the linen closet and locking it shut, Ron spent the early morning hours cleaning up dust and dirt and levitating spiders out of the small house.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was terrified of the moment when Draco finally woke up and was trying to make the house look at least a little decent in hopes of softening the blow.

After he’d tidied all he could, Ron slipped back to the linen closet, sitting on the floor and leaning against it so that he would be there when Draco woke up. After everything Draco had said their last night in London, Ron didn’t want him to be scared when he woke up alone and in the dark.

When he heard Draco moan faintly, Ron called, “Draco? Draco, are you awake? It’s me, everything’s alright.”

There was silence for a long, long moment, and then Draco asked, “I’m in a closet, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes.”

Swearing savagely, Draco spat, “You are so dead, Weasley.”

Ron flinched. “I know,” he said soothingly. “But just listen for a minute, will you?”

“I can just Apparate right out of here.”

“You can’t. The Potion has a few lingering effects and that’s one of them. I also took and hid your wand. Just, listen, alright?”

“Then hurry up and fucking start talking, because I’m in a fucking closet, Weasley!”

“Everything’s alright! It’ll be fine, they’ll never find you here. No one knows about this place except my family, it’s incredibly isolated.”

Draco considered this for half a second and then snapped, “I’m still in the closet.”

“I realize that. I just wanted to make sure you listened to me before you killed me. I couldn’t let you go, Draco, don’t you see that? I couldn’t let you leave me again.”

“You hate me! Why do you care if I’m gone? Why the fuck do you care if I’m killed? I seem to recall that you can’t stand to have me touch you, look at you, even fucking speak to you, so why do you care?”

“I don’t hate you,” Ron said, sighing and leaning his head back against the door. “I just don’t love you. We’re friends, aren’t we, Draco? I couldn’t just let… let you go.”

There was another pause, and then, hesitantly, “You don’t love me?”

“No. But I did stop some dirty old man from shagging you on the bus,” Ron said helpfully, because mixing a bit of truth with the lie made it somehow easier to say.

“… Thank you. Will you let me out of the closet now?”

“Are you still planning on killing me?”

“Yes.”

“You’d kill someone who just claimed to be your friend?”

“I killed my own father, didn’t I?”

Ron winced and didn’t reply.

There was silence, and then Draco snapped, “Fine, leave me in here forever, I don’t care. It’s rather nice in here.”

Letting out a frustrated breath, Ron ran a hand through his hair. “Draco… I’m not going to let you out if you just plan on killing me. Despite everything you think about me, I’m not an idiot, and I’m not suicidal.”

Draco didn’t reply.

“Are you sulking now? Because that’s pretty childish.”

“For your information I am constructing a noose out of bed sheets with the intention of hanging myself before I have to spend forever locked in your fucking linen closet and forced to listen to you prattle on this way.”

Ron paused for a moment to consider if Draco was serious, and decided, rather hopefully, that he wasn’t. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your choice, Weasley.” There were a few muffled thumps.

“… Draco? What are you doing?”

There was no reply, and after glancing about hopefully for a weapon, Ron edged closer. He unlocked the door and threw it open, and for one, startled moment, Draco’s eyes flew to his and widened in surprise. Ron glanced about quickly, didn’t see a noose anywhere or anywhere to hang one from, for that matter, and then, just as Draco howled and lunged at him, Ron slammed the door shut again and locked it, breathing hard.

There was a loud crash as Draco slammed against the door, and then silence. “Let me out, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of, no one locks a Malfoy in a fucking closet, Weasley, it isn’t done!” He pounded on the door.

“The door’s not gonna break, Draco, I should know, Fred and George locked me in there enough times when I was little.” There was a sharp crack and the door broke in half. Draco came spilling out, slamming into Ron and knocking him to the floor. Falling with a yelp, Ron smashed his head on the corner of the brick fireplace and lost consciousness.

When he woke up, he was lying on the couch, a wet cloth on the bruise forming on his forehead, and Draco was across the small room in an armchair, brooding.

“You could have died,” he snapped.

“I think I did,” Ron moaned, his head throbbing.

“I’d charm your headache better, but I couldn’t find my fucking wand.”

Ron had taken it and hidden it. He winced. “Ooh,” he whimpered, sitting up.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco watched him carefully, looking concerned but unwilling to voice it out loud. “And, for the record, I intend to get out of here as soon as you tell me where the hell we are.”

The closet door was lying in pieces all over the floor. “You broke my door,” Ron said, stunned.

“Yeah, well, I’m a lot stronger than you were last time you were locked in there, obviously. I would have fixed the door but, again, I seem to not be in possession of a wand at the moment.” He shot Ron a hard glare.

“I think I have a concussion,” Ron moaned, trying to distract him.

“What the hell makes you think you’ve got the right to fucking take me prisoner?” Draco snarled suddenly.

“I have every right,” Ron said simply. “We’re friends.”

“Malfoys and Weasleys do not become friends.”

“And Malfoys are never locked in closets, nor do they shag Weasleys. We’ve already broken the rules, why should we start pretending now?”

Draco glared at him and Ron tried not to look nervous. He cleared his throat.

“Why did you even bother?” Draco snapped finally. “I mean, why do you care if I’m captured and killed? You don’t love me.”

“You’re really developing a fixation on that,” Ron said, watching his face carefully, but certainly not hopefully. He wasn’t a masochist.

“It’s because I’m so fucking goddamn lovable, obviously.” He ran a hand through his hair and scowled. “I just don’t understand why you’re doing this. You don’t understand. The longer I stay near you, the more danger you’re in and I will not be held responsible for your death, Weasley.”

“No one will find us here,” Ron promised softly.

Glancing around almost desperately, Draco spat, “I don’t even know where here is!”

Ron looked around, trying to see it from Draco’s perspective. There were only four rooms: a living room, a kitchen, and two bedrooms, one master bedroom for the parents and one for the children. The floors had random rugs tossed on them, woven from colourful Weasley rags, and the windows were small and covered in mismatched drapes. The walls were covered in faded wallpaper that had grapevines painted on them, and there was a brick fireplace that nearly dominated the far wall, decorated with pictures of grinning and waving Weasleys. There was a Weasley family tree painted onto the brick surface, with every stone bearing the proud name of a Weasley. Ron’s name was next to Fred’s and Ginny’s near the bottom.

Clearing his throat, he said delicately, “This is Weasley Manor. My ancestral home. My great great grandparents built the Burrow, but before that, my relatives lived here. Now we mainly use it as a cottage, for vacations in the summer, though we haven’t since I was little.” He stood up, chewing his lower lip and then saying, “It’s on a small island accessible only by water. It’s ice now, but thin in places where the water is deepest. I carried you over the thickest ice so we didn’t fall through, but no one else would know the way.”

“But why did you bring me here?” Draco asked quietly, cocking his head to the side and studying Ron thoughtfully. “You don’t love me. Don’t particularly like me.”

“You need me.”

Draco snorted.

“And I… I need you too.” Ron glanced away. “I couldn’t let you leave me again, I was scared this time you’d never come back.”

“And you’re just going to keep me here forever, is that it? Holding my wand hostage?”

“If I have to.”

“I don’t want to be here with you,” Draco said, emphasizing each of the words carefully.

“You don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

They glared at each other, and Draco was the first to look away. “Fuck you,” he mumbled, sprawling in a chair by the fireplace. He then proceeded to pretend Ron didn’t exist.

Ron charmed his headache better with his wand, which he’d hidden in the kitchen, and then sat in a rocking chair by a window, staring out at the snowy trees around the cottage.

The silence was broken by the crackling fire and it seemed to stretch forever. Draco slumped in his chair and growled under his breath, and every time he moved, Ron glanced at him hopefully and then sighed in disappointment when Draco did not acknowledge his existence.

Finally, Ron couldn’t take it any longer. “Draco?”

“What?”

“Want to play chess or something? I’m bored out of my mind.” Draco looked as though he was about to refuse, and Ron said quickly, “You can still be mad at me, it’s just, if we’re going to be stuck here forever, we may as well amuse ourselves, right? I’ll even let you win a few times.”

“Let me win?” Draco growled, and Ron restrained a grin. Sometimes Malfoys could be so predictable.

They played chess for hours.

***

Though the isolation meant that they had to rely on each other for conversation or risk insanity brought on by loneliness, the tension in the cottage did not ease for the next three days. Though they played chess together and had conversations, they did not interact in anything even resembling a friendly manner. They never met each other’s eyes except to glare hatefully, and every bit of conversation was stilted and formal. Draco would coldly request that Ron turn over his wand so he could leave, and Ron would coldly inform Draco that he may as well get used to being there, because Ron was never letting him go. And so a stalemate had been declared, and Ron went to sleep each night despairing that nothing would ever happen to break it, that he and Draco would be stuck like this forever. He didn’t know what he could possibly do to make it better, because falling to his knees and confessing undying love for Draco (which, he reassured himself, wouldn’t even closely resemble the truth of his feelings) while begging him not to run off and get killed, would only serve to make Draco run faster. Shagging him would serve a distraction, of course, but not nearly the kind Ron found himself wanting, and besides, it would probably just increase tensions. It had been Ron’s experience that, while the actual act of shagging was pleasant enough, the aftermath was rather messy and fraught with emotional peril.

He couldn’t let Draco go, of course. He had to make sure Draco was safe. There was also the strange feeling of being home when Draco was near. In the months that Draco had been gone, Ron had never subconsciously stopped looking for him, in crowded places and at Quidditch games, never stopped scanning the newspaper for mention of his name. And now that Draco was here (albeit furious and sulky and silent most of the time), Ron found himself able to relax more than ever. Even the tension of living with a furious Draco who hated him was easier than living with the terror that he was going to hear that Draco was dead sometime in the near future.

And so, while not altogether happy with the situation, Ron was satisfied, at least. It was an improvement.

But he did wish he could do something to make Draco understand how important this was to him. How important Draco not being dead had become.

It was three days after they’d first arrived at Weasley Manor, when things finally came to a head. They’d been playing chess and Ron had just slid his bishop into a checkmate position, glancing up hesitantly to see Draco’s reaction. Draco was scowling, and Ron frowned.

“Sorry,” he said, disappointment at the continued hostilities making him sullen. “I wouldn’t have done that if you had any skill at this game.”

Cold silver eyes flew up to his and Draco laughed scornfully. “Go ahead, insult my chess skills all you like, Weasley. I hardly care.”

Their eyes met and held for a long, tense moment, and a muscle twitched in Ron’s jaw as he repressed the sudden and rather uncalled for urge to punch Draco in the face.

It was Draco who looked away first, blinking and then glancing down, scowl softening into a frown, and Ron sighed softly. At the sound, Draco lifted his head again, eyes narrow, and he’d just opened his mouth to speak when there came a knock at the door.

Draco swore under his breath and turned away, and Ron automatically got up to open the door. It was Ginny.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “ Malfoy here?”

Ron blinked. And started to smile. He hadn’t seen Ginny in over a year, after all, and she’d brought groceries. Draco popped up beside him and snorted. “No one will know we’re here, eh?” he sneered.

Frowning, Ron said, “That’s right! Ginny! How did you —”

“I’m not a complete moron, Ron. Percy wrote me in a panic saying you’d disappeared and, probably in his hysteria, mentioned that Draco was missing as well, and something about Lucius Malfoy… it was very messy. Anyway, he asked if I’d seen you, and I said no, and then owled Harry, who said the last he’d seen of Draco was when Draco came to Hogsmeade looking for you, Ron, and I, of course, knew that you’d moved to London. Percy told me. Anyway, so I went to London, you weren’t there. So I figured, if there was one place Ron would think was safer than anywhere else, where would it be? A tiny cottage on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere? Hey wait, that sounds like Weasley Manor!’ So here I am. I brought crisps.”

Draco snatched up the crisps with a whispered, “Thank you, god,” and went into the cottage, flopping on the couch and ripping a bag open.

“Does anyone else know we’re here?” Ron hissed.

“No. Percy and the others probably have forgotten all about it, it was only me and you that ever came here with Mum and Dad, everyone else made excuses. They hated it, remember? They wouldn’t think anyone would willingly come here. As for everyone after Draco, they don’t know that Draco has a relationship at all with you, and as far as they know, I’m still running scared and not in England. Which is why I can’t stay too long. I just wanted to come up and make sure—” she glanced over his shoulder at Draco, who was eating the crisps with immense satisfaction— “he’s alright.”

“He’s perfectly miserable to live with,” Ron said bitterly. “All we do is glare at each other.”

“I didn’t mean how good a housemate is he,” she said impatiently. “I meant after that whole thing with his father.”

“You knew about that?”

“Front page of The Daily Prophet, Ron. Don’t you work for that newspaper?” She shoved him teasingly.

“I haven’t been reading it lately,” he said, shrugging.

“But how is he?” She turned serious, watching Draco over Ron’s shoulder.

“He’s alright, I think. Different. He’s… more careful and protective.”

Her eyes widened. “But he wouldn’t even let you leave the house before!”

“Well, not protective towards me,” Ron grimaced. “At least, not anymore. He’s rather angry with me.”

She shot him a hard look, as if instinctively blaming him for whatever had happened, and brushed by him, into the cottage.

Ginny and Draco soon fell into easy conversation, and, as the night passed, Ron began feeling more and more left out and finally, leaving the room with a huff, he went into the bedroom he’d claimed as his own to sulk. Curling up under the blankets, he fell asleep quickly.

***

Ron woke up just before dawn, when Ginny hopped on his bed and poked him in the shoulder. “Ron,” she hissed. “Ron, wake up.”

“What?” he mumbled sleepily, opening his eyes and squinting up at her.

“I need to talk to you. About Malfoy.”

That woke Ron up faster than anything would have. “Is he alright?”

She sat down on the end of her bed and stared at him reproachfully. “You hurt his feelings.”

“Did he tell you that?” Ron asked with a scowl.

“Not in so many words. He doesn’t understand why you’re keeping him here against his will when you obviously want nothing to do with him.”

“I never said I wanted nothing to do with him!”

“Well then? What do you want with him? I’m about as confused as he is.”

Ron sat up and rubbed his eyes, mumbling, “I thought he and I were friends.”

“Oh, come on, Ron! You guys can shag each other from now until the end of the world and you’ll never be friends. It’s never been about friendship for the two of you. Friendship implies you get along and like each other.”

Stung, Ron frowned. “We do get along! Some of the time. And I… I don’t… I mean, like might be the wrong word for it, but —”

“It is. You want him, and maybe you even love him, at least a little, but like him? He’s Draco Malfoy and you’re Ronald Weasley. There’s not much to like there.”

His eyes were stinging with tears, and Ron was glad Ginny couldn’t see it in the darkness. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” he said quietly, fiddling with the blanket.

She touched the side of his face gently. “Ron. Listen. Maybe there isn’t the right sort of thing to be friends between you, maybe he’ll never be your best friend who you can whisper about cute boys with in the middle of the night while doing each other’s hair and stuff, and maybe you’ll never get along well enough to have a political debate without wanting to kill each other. That doesn’t mean there’s nothing between you. Just that it isn’t as simple and well-defined as friendship.”

“Well, what is it then?” he whispered.

She grinned; he could see it in the dark. “You wanna shag him, don’t you? I bet you shagged him before he had to leave, when we were all living together, didn’t you?”

“Ginny!” His face was turning bright red and Ron was horrified at his pure, innocent little sister saying such a thing. Despite her efforts to convince him of the contrary, he was still very intent on believing her very virginal and pure.

“You did!” she squealed, giggling. “So? So! C’mon, details. Was it good? Was he good? I bet he would be. I mean, he is Draco Malfoy…”

“Ginny… Ginny, stop.” He made a pained effort to stop her from flailing about gushing on about the virtues of Draco’s sexual prowess, but she avoided him. “It was a mistake.”

She froze at that, and cocked her head, studying him in the darkness. “How could it be a mistake?” she asked, sounding awestricken at the very possibility. “He’s practically dizzy for you, even now.”

“He left me.” Ron swallowed hard.

“He had to.”

“Without a word to me? Right after… he… he gave me a potion and then left. Without a word. Right after the only time we…”

“Well. Okay, that was a bit thoughtless. But he probably didn’t know what to say. You know Malfoy. He’s emotionally constipated.”

Ron flinched. “That’s… that’s a lovely way to put it, Gin.”

“Well, it’s true. So, tell me. Is this whole ‘let’s just be friends’ shit all a direct result of something that Malfoy did over a year ago that made you completely forget everything good that came before that one mistake? Or do you honestly not want anything else from him?”

“It’s difficult!” Ron snapped.

“And you think any of it was easy for him?”

“He made it perfectly clear that what was easy for him was no longer my concern when he poisoned me and left me.”

“Ron. He had to leave. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to leave you, and probably not the best time, but he had to, and he did it in the way that was easiest for him. He doesn’t know how to think about what’s easiest for someone else, but he’s trying. Even I can see that.”

“How the hell has be been trying?” he snarled, growing frustrated.

“He’s still here, isn’t he? You don’t think he couldn’t get another wand if he wanted to? But he stayed. Because of you. Because he didn’t want to leave you and you gave him the perfect opportunity to stay and make it seem like you forced him.”

Ron stared at her blankly. “I did force him.”

“God, Ron! One thing I will never understand about how one boy could somehow find himself in love with another boy is how the hell they manage to get into a relationship without a woman to point out exactly how! Men are all so dense.”

Offended, Ron stiffened and scowled. “I object on the grounds that you just insulted my entire sex and me.”

“You deserved it. Now try listening to me while I explain this to you.” She was speaking very slowly and clearly. “Malfoy wanted to stay with you. He obviously wanted to be with you, given that after things went to hell for him with his father, he came to you. No one else, just you. He obviously wants to be with you, given that he’s here isn’t he? Are you going to just keep ignoring all of this because he hasn’t come right out and said it out loud to you?”

“I never said I wanted to be with him,” he whispered.

She was quiet for a moment, and then she sighed. “I know, Ron, and so does he. Have you told him you don’t want to be with him?”

“Yes.”

“No bloody wonder all you guys do is glare at each other. I swear, Ron, if all the women were wiped off the face of the earth and men were expected to understand these things without us to hold their hands, there would be chaos. Absolute chaos.” She patted his hand. “Anyway. I just wanted to ask. I talked to Malfoy all night, and…” she laughed lightly. “I wanted to know your intentions towards him.”

“Who’s side are you on, anyway?” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Ginny didn’t bother to reply.

***

Ron woke up late the next morning and stared blankly at the ceiling. It was very quiet, and bright sunlight was spilling through the windows, irritating him. Then, a burst of laughter echoed from the living room, and he sat up, startled.

“Oh,” he said a moment later. “Just Ginny.”

He dressed quickly and opened the door a crack, peeking out hesitantly. Draco was sprawled on the couch and Ginny sitting on the floor, leaning against it, and she seemed to be trying to throw kernels of popcorn into Draco’s mouth. Ron blinked and smiled a little and then hurried to the bathroom.

He showered and brushed his teeth, cleaned his face, checked his appearance three times, ran wet fingers through his hair to stand it up and make it look sexily messy (didn’t work, but it’s the effort that counts), and then peered nervously out into the living room again. They hadn’t noticed him yet, but he was glad that Draco seemed in a better mood today than he had since Ron had first kidnapped him.

Taking a deep breath, Ron opened the door and stepped into the room, just as a piece of popcorn hit Draco’s lower lip and bounced off.

“Ron! Thought you were going to sleep forever,” Ginny chirped, hopping to her feet. “I made breakfast, let me go and get you some.” She left the room, and Ron swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes, and wondering why there were a thousand butterflies in his throat.

Draco didn’t say anything, and neither did Ron, who walked closer, and started shaking a little. It was ridiculous, really. Draco swung his legs down so Ron could sit beside him, and Ron turned towards him, and still couldn’t think of anything to say. Everything Ginny had said the night before was swirling in his mind, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t process any of it. Could only stare at Draco rather blankly.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, aware of his stare, and he finally turned to snap something, but Ron didn’t let him. He reached forward, slipped one hand behind Draco’s neck, and tugged him forward, so their lips met in a sudden, bruising kiss. Making a brief sound of protest in the back of his throat, Draco fought for balance, pulling back a little. Feeling rejected, Ron whimpered and turned away, biting his lower lip and squeezing his eyes shut.

But before he could run back to his bedroom, Draco was on his knees and sliding closer, both hands braced on Ron’s shoulders. “No, wait,” he said breathlessly, and Ron turned back to face him. Slipping his hands up to cradle Ron’s face, either to prevent him from running scared or something else, Ron couldn’t tell, Draco kissed him hungrily, sliding even closer, so that when Ron melted into him, he landed pressed against Draco’s chest.

Whimpering again, though this time for much different reasons, Ron pressed closer, meeting Draco’s tongue with his own and tangling his fingers in Draco’s hair, jerking him closer.

Ron couldn’t hear anything except his own heavy breathing and beating heart, forgot anything else existed except for Draco’s hands and his mouth and everything else about him.

He’d just moaned into Draco’s mouth when Ginny walked in and stumbled to a stop. “Ohmygod,” she said in a tone that meant she was about to start babbling in a soppily female manner.

Without breaking the kiss, Draco grabbed the bowl of popcorn and threw it in her general direction, so that popcorn rained all over her and the floor. Laughing, she said, “Okay, okay, I get the hint.” She left again, still giggling, but Ron was too distracted to care.

Ron’s stomach growled a little while later, and Draco pulled away, snickering. “Hungry?” he asked, smirking.

Licking his lips and squirming, Ron said, “Well. Umm. Actually, yes.” He was blushing and he ducked his head, leaping off the couch and slipping into the kitchen. Ginny was sitting at the table, eating dry cereal from a box.

She lifted her eyebrows when he came in. “Finished already?” she asked, her lip curled in a faint and very amused sneer.

“Umm, yes,” he squeaked, blushing even more. Clearing his throat, he snatched the box out of her hands, grabbing a handful of cereal. “This is your idea of making breakfast?” he asked, eating the cereal.

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Never claimed to be a chef.”

Draco came in then, sauntering lazily and smirking widely. It was disgusting, Ron thought, even as he shivered a bit and squirmed at the effect it was having on him. Draco saw it and laughed, and Ron tried to scowl and concentrated on the cereal.

Ginny was watching them both with wide eyes that glittered in far too satisfied a fashion, and Ron kicked her under the table. “Everyone just shut up,” he said.

Spinning the chair beside him around, Draco straddled it and stole the box of cereal.

It was all very awkward. Ron didn’t know what to say, was thinking that it probably would have been a lot simpler had he just not stopped kissing Draco, because now everyone seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

But he didn’t know what he was supposed to be saying.

He was staring so intently at the cereal in his hand that Ron didn’t hear Ginny call his name. Draco touched his shoulder, not looking cocky any longer, but more concerned.

“Weasley? Hey, you alright?”

He jumped and yelped a little, eyes widening. “Umm. Oh. Sure. What?”

Ginny was frowning, and she mouthed, “What’s wrong?”, as if Draco wouldn’t see her do it, and Ron moaned softly.

“Look, I’m gonna go for a walk, okay? Everything’s fine, I just… I’ll be back in a bit.”

He hurried from the room, aware that the box of cereal had just dropped from Draco’s fingers and spilled all over the table, and that Ginny was staring at him in complete confusion. He just didn’t want to discuss it at all. How was he supposed to say, “Draco, I know you don’t love me but I’m completely in love with you”, without looking like a complete and utter sod with no sense of self-worth? And so he had to get away until the urge to confess all those soppy feelings was gone.

He grabbed a cloak and ducked out of the cottage, into the frigid cold.

His breath hissed in front of him, his skin felt tight and icy cold, and it was all a very good distraction from the disgusting fluffiness that was building up inside.

He walked for a long while, and the only sound was the brittle cracking of snow beneath his boots. Finally, when he’d gotten his soppy thoughts under control, he made his way back to the cottage.

Draco was sitting on the front steps, wrapped in his cloak, and smoking. He watched Ron as he made his way out of the trees and into the shadow of the cottage, and then he took the cigarette from his lips.

“If I did something to scare you, I didn’t mean to,” Draco said, and Ron cocked his head and wondered if this was an example of how Draco was trying to do what was easiest for someone else and not himself, and all of the soppy feelings he’d just walked off came back all over again.

“It’s just I think I kinda love you,” Ron said. And then he winced. “I’m such a fucking idiot!” he spat. “Bloody fucking hell, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I mean, I’m so dense sometimes, I shouldn’t have said that, I know you don’t…can’t…won’t…” He trailed off, breathing heavily and shooting a quick glance at Draco, which was not all that reassuring. Draco was staring blankly at him, as if he didn’t even recognize him anymore. Ron licked his lips and waited for something to happen. The ground to open up and swallow him, something like that. “Any chance we can forget I said that?” he whispered.

Draco blinked. “Umm,” he said, looking nervous.

Ron felt a stirring of irritation at that and he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “I could… I could teach you how.”

“What?” Draco asked faintly.

“Teach you. You said you didn’t know how. To love someone. I could teach you. If you wanted, I mean.”

Draco was still pale and looked rather stunned. The cigarette was burning down in his hand. “I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know.” He ran a hand through his hair and Ron could see it was trembling. He let out a short breath through his nose and turned away.

“I’m sorry. If it helps, I really am.”

“I think I —” Draco started saying, very slowly, and the door opened and Ginny was there suddenly.

“Malfoy was going a bit crazy, Ron,” she scolded. “You were gone for so long, we were worried.”

Ron remembered Draco’s protectiveness and how quick he was to worry, ever since everything had happened with Sean and his father. He glanced back at Draco and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Draco just stared at him blankly, tossed his cigarette aside, and disappeared into the cottage.

“What did you do?” Ginny whispered, eyes wide.

Ron collapsed onto the front step and started to cry.

# Chapter 09

Unbecoming

Chapter Nine

Ron’s eyes were swollen and stinging, and he was glaring into his hot cocoa. The sun was setting and Draco hadn’t said a single word to him since Ron had come inside, at Ginny’s prompting. He would talk to her, but only in monosyllables and grunts, and Ron was getting quite pissed off. As for Ginny, she was dividing her time casting equally furious glares at the both of them. And then she smiled, sharply.

“Ron, darling, just for the record? You and Malfoy got popcorn all over the couch, so I refuse to sleep there. Therefore I am taking your bed. You can decide for yourself where you’re going to sleep.” With a pointed glance at both of them, she stalked off to Ron’s bedroom.

Slamming his mug of cocoa down, Ron stalked to the linen closet and pulled out some pillows and blankets, beginning to make a bed on the floor.

Draco watched for a moment, and then snorted, setting his mug aside and taking Ron by the hand.

“What?” Ron snapped.

“Just shut up,” Draco said quietly. “C’mon. Bring the blankets.”

“Where?”

“You’re sleeping in my room.”

“Where are you sleeping, then?”

“With you,” Draco told him, looking almost defiant.

Ron considered this for a moment. “Well,” he said finally, sounding doubtful. “As long as you don’t, you know…”

“Cop a feel and try to shag you?”

“I was going to say steal the covers.”

“Well,” Draco said, smiling just a little. “That’s why you’ve got to bring the blankets. It’s bloody freezing in there in the morning.”

Ron didn’t speak as Draco tugged him into the other small bedroom, tossing the pile of blankets onto the small bed. “Why are you doing this?” Ron asked, as Draco pulled his shirt up over his head.

“Because I don’t think your sister will be pleased if she wakes up tomorrow and finds you on the floor.” He smiled a bit and dropped his shirt to the floor.

Ron watched him quietly, wondering if this was all some elaborate way of Draco’s to do something he really wanted without taking responsibility for wanting it. The way he’d stayed because he wanted to, but only by making it seem to be against his will. And now he was going to love Ron, but only if he was sure everyone would know it was because Ginny was forcing him. And suddenly that was better than sitting around glaring at each other, and somehow more honest besides.

“Alright,” Ron said, and Draco relaxed. Ron hadn’t even noticed he had tensed up, but he had.

The bed was small and they were forced to snuggle together, though Ron didn’t mind. Draco was warm, and there was a pile of blankets to ward off the cold, and the only sound was their mingling breathing. Draco’s arms were wrapped around Ron’s shoulders, Ron’s around his waist, and Ron’s eyes fluttered sleepily shut.

***

Ron woke up slowly, his sleepy mind not questioning the warmth of Draco beside him, or anything else. He smiled slightly, eyelids fluttering, and murmuring in the back of his throat, snuggling closer and nuzzling his face into the side of Draco’s neck.

“Are you awake?” Draco whispered, not sounding sleepy at all. He’d obviously been waiting a long time for Ron to wake up. “Ron? Shit.”

Moaning, Ron shook his head in protest. “Sleeping,” he lied, sighing.

There was silence for a long moment, during which Ron could have drifted off to sleep again. He had no concept of time, didn’t know how long passed, until Draco kissed him lightly, on his temple, and asked softly, “If I died, would you be alright?”

Ron stiffened and his eyes opened, blinking and then squinting shut again. He pulled away slowly, tilting his head up to look at Draco, who watched him with dark, unreadable eyes. “No,” he said honestly.

Draco blinked, and Ron finally understood the emotion there. Draco looked thoroughly confused. “Why?”

“Why?” Ron echoed blankly. “You’d be dead.”

“Yeah, but so? You’d get over it. You’d…” he waved a hand airily. “You know. Adjust. Move on. I mean, sure, maybe you’d be a little… sad…” he glanced at Ron questioningly, as if he wasn’t even sure of that, and Ron nodded encouragingly, if only to find out where Draco was going with all of this. “A little sad. But you’d get over it. Wouldn’t you?”

“No.”

Draco scowled and started pulling away, but Ron shook his head wordlessly and wouldn’t let him go. Laying his head back on Draco’s shoulder, Ron frowned. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “You look angry that I wouldn’t be alright if you died.”

“I just don’t fucking get it!” Draco snapped. “Why would you let someone’s death matter to you so much that you’d never get over it? I don’t understand why anyone would willingly trust someone that much, trust that they aren’t going to just… die or leave or… or something.”

“Oh.” Ron considered this for a moment, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. “Would you… I mean, if I died —” He broke off abruptly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to that.

“You’re not going to die,” Draco hissed, and Ron decided, with a small smile, that maybe that was answer enough.

“Okay,” he said.

“It’s just…” Draco said after a moment, returning to their conversation. “I don’t want to die if you’re not going to be alright.”

Ron sat up and looked at him, frowning. “Then if I was gonna be alright, you’d want to die?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

“You’re confusing me.”

“You think you’re confused?” Draco snarled, looking almost pouty.

Ron smiled then, snuggling close again. So that was it, then. This had nothing to do with Draco wanting to die. Ron thought back to before, when he’d been so confused and terrified of his sexuality and everything, and how Draco hadn’t understood that, but had somehow shown him that being with another guy wasn’t such a scary thing. That Draco was perfectly fine being with other guys and lacked the courage to love them came as somewhat of a surprise, but, after Ron thought about it for a bit, it did make sense. He seriously doubted that love existed in an excessive quantity in Malfoy Manor.

They lay together in silence for a while, and Ron decided, closing his eyes and listening to Draco’s breathing, that it was the happiest he’d ever been. If he forgot his worries about where it was going or how it had come to be, what his mother would say if she knew, how his brothers would react if they knew, when the next time either he or Draco would freak out and start a fight or runaway again, and it was just him and Draco lying together in silence, then he was happy.

Ron was a romantic by nature, and this was romantic. Sort of. Vaguely. Okay, Draco was probably lying there thinking panicky thoughts about how best to get out of this situation without getting hurt, which made it slightly less romantic, and more precarious and potentially painful. But if he ignored all that…

But now that he’d thought it, he couldn’t ignore it. He began focusing too much on those thoughts, listening carefully to Draco’s breathing for signs of what he was thinking, feeling, if he was about to move and bolt. It became steadily less romantic, and finally, he sat up with a scowl.

“Will you stop it?” he snapped.

Draco blinked. “I wasn’t moving.”

“Stop thinking like that!”

“Like what? I wasn’t thinking! Well, certainly not out loud!” Draco scowled. “Honestly, I didn’t know you were a mind reader, what’s your problem?”

Ron closed his eyes, sighing. “Shit. Sorry. Never mind. I was just… worried. What were you thinking about?”

“Not you. Not everything’s about you.”

Ron winced, and Draco growled in irritation. “I’m sorry,” Ron began.

“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” Draco interrupted. “I just meant… I was thinking. About other things. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to think about me all the time,” Ron said honestly. “Forget it.”

Draco looked away, frowning, and Ron shifted awkwardly. He wondered if this was a relationship, he’d never had one before. He also wondered if all relationships were this awkward.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Draco said, after the silence grew stilted and tense. He left, and Ron dressed slowly before wandering out to the kitchen.

Ginny was sitting there. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “So?” she asked bluntly. “Did you guys… you know.”

Ron winced. “Ginny, despite your obvious interests in my sex life, I prefer not to announce these things to the general public.”

“Ah ha, I shall take that as a no then, because a guy who’s just been shagged is rarely this bitchy in the morning. What did you do this time?”

“I didn’t do anything. I… I told him I loved him. Yesterday.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you?”

“What?”

“Love him.”

“I don’t know, I must, mustn’t I? Or I wouldn’t have accidentally said it. But how am I supposed to know?” He sat heavily in the chair across from her and scowled.

Ginny considered this for a long moment, and then said thoughtfully, “Did he say it back?”

“What do you think?”

“Judging that there was no ‘hurray we’re in love’ sex, would that be no?”

“You think about sex far too often, Ginny.”

“It’s the curse of those who don’t get any,” she said cheerfully. “We’re forced to think about it all day, every day, until the blessed day when —”

“Spare me the sodding details.”

She laughed, and Ron felt moderately more cheerful. Still, he sighed. “It’s difficult. I don’t know where I stand, everything’s messed up. A week ago, I would have sworn I was done with him and anything as remotely complicated as this.”

“A week ago, you hadn’t seen him in a year. And besides, maybe you weren’t ready for this a year ago, Ron. I mean, no offence, but you weren’t in the best frame of mind then. But you’ve changed this last year. Grown.” She smiled, a little bitterly. “Too bad I was off hiding and didn’t get to grow with you, huh? But anyway. Maybe a year ago, this wouldn’t have worked. But I think it can now, at least from your end. Malfoy’s changed too, I’m just not sure if it’s for the better. He’s different… darker. This thing with his father, he never mentions it, but it’s always there, I can see it. He never takes his eyes off you, he’s always got to watch you.”

Ron remembered the first few nights, when Draco had woken and panicked, not knowing if Ron was safe, and had come looking for him. “I know,” he whispered. “But he’s getting better, isn’t he? He hasn’t talked about it…”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s getting over it. He is Draco Malfoy, remember?”

Ron was chewing his lower lip worriedly, thinking back on the last few days, trying to remember if Draco had given any sign as to his mental state. If he was alright. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know if he’s alright. How can I love him if I don’t even know if he’s alright? Fuck, I can’t… I didn’t even think, I mean, if it was me, he’d know I wasn’t alright, and he doesn’t even love me! I completely suck at this!” He was growing more and more stricken with each passing second.

“Ron. Ron. Calm down. Breathe. It’s alright, he’s Draco Malfoy, not the easiest guy in the world to read and certainly not all that forthcoming with his feelings. It isn’t your fault.”

“I don’t think, if I had a choice, I’d have fallen for someone so complicated,” Ron said desperately.

She rolled her eyes. “No one gets a choice. That’s what makes it fun. It’s like Russian Roulette.” She smiled brightly.

Ron’s eyes widened and he felt even more terrified then before.

***

When Draco came out of the shower, Ron was perched nervously on the bed, a pillow on his lap. He was fiddling with the pillowcase and his face was pale, freckles standing out like spots of blood.

Draco paused in the doorway and Ron gathered his courage and lifted his eyes up passed Draco’s towel-clad body, to his face. “Hello,” he said politely. “How are you?”

Blinking, Draco frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked, kicking the door shut.

“I was just wondering how you were,” Ron said evasively.

“Yeah, but why?”

“You certainly are prickly after you shower,” Ron commented, watching Draco move to the bag he’d left on the floor with their clothes in it.

“You’re making me nervous.”

Ron sighed. “I was worried.”

Now Draco abandoned his fruitless quest for clean clothes and joined him on the bed, frowning and studying Ron’s face. “About what?”

“You.”

A small smile tilted the corners of Draco’s mouth. “Oh.”

“It’s just… you haven’t really talked about what happened. With your father. Or anything, really. And I was worried.”

Now Draco looked cold, and turned away. “Nothing to talk about,” he said, very casually.

“There’s plenty to talk about!” Ron cried. “We haven’t actually talked since, well, ever! Not in the ‘I want to get to know you’ sort of way! Only in the ‘hey hey you’re hot let’s shag’ sense, and… and… That’s not enough.”

Draco was smiling again, coldly. “Not enough? I don’t recall offering any more,” he said.

“It’s not…” He trailed off, swallowing and gathering up his courage. “It’s not always about you, Draco.”

Staring at him, completely bewildered, Draco said, “Since when? I mean, it’s… Since when?”

His temper snapped and Ron threw the pillow at Draco, shouting, “Since I bloody well decided that I’m worth more than being someone’s fuck buddy! Since I realized that I want more than that and that what I want matters, at least to me! And if it doesn’t matter to you, than I made a huge fucking mistake but it’s not like I chose any of this, because I swear, if I had a choice, I never would have fallen for a dimwitted fuckwad like you who can’t feel anything! Do you know how fucking frustrating it is when —”

He broke off abruptly because Draco, who had been staring numbly at Ron the whole time he shouted, had suddenly slid closer and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He jerked him forward and kissed him hard, sloppily and messily and Ron would have pushed him away and kept shouting, except Draco tasted so good and he’d wanted to kiss him so badly, and he was only wearing a towel. Besides, Draco’s hands were shaking and it was rather endearing, really.

So Ron let his anger melt faster than sugar in a cup of tea, and he mumbled contentedly as he fell against Draco and his eyes slid shut and his mouth open to let Draco’s tongue inside.

And then Draco broke the kiss and let out a shaky breath. “Fuck you’re gorgeous when you’re angry,” he said huskily.

Ron blinked and smiled, flushing a little. “Gorgeous?” he echoed. No one had called him gorgeous before.

“Mmm.”

“Thank you.” He kissed Draco lightly on the lips and then picked up the pillow and began beating Draco upside the head with it. “But you didn’t let me finish,” he growled.

Draco laughed and Ron growled again, smacking him with the pillow. His heart wasn’t in it, however, and he had forgotten what he’d been berating Draco about. This just served to frustrate him even more, and he beat him even harder with the pillow. Draco just laughed and laughed.

When Draco fell backwards, he grabbed Ron’s shirt again and pulled him, so Ron landed sprawled on top of him. “Shut up, Weasley,” he purred. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Oooh,” Ron hissed, though the pillow fell from suddenly weak fingers and he made no move to get away. In fact, his breathing was fast and sporadic now, from more than fury, and his fingers trembling, smoothing over Draco’s naked chest. How Draco managed to retain his towel even after being beaten with a pillow completely amazed him. The fight went out of him with a shaky breath, and he lowered his head to Draco’s shoulder and sighed.

“You give up too easily,” Draco said after a moment, and Ron wondered if he was referring to Ron’s goal of pummeling him with a pillow, or convincing him to love him. Ron lifted his head and glanced down at Draco’s teasing grin.

“And you’re a fuckwad, like I said,” Ron informed him, feeling suddenly rather wistful. He blinked because his eyes were stinging, and that was rather embarrassing.

“And you fight like a girl,” Draco commented, reaching up and smoothing Ron’s hair.

“And you look like one.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he growled. “You are such a prat!” And then, before Ron could brace himself, Draco was up and clutching the pillow, smacking him with it, hard. He was grumbling under his breath as he beat Ron with the pillow, and Ron was so stunned that it took a long moment before he yelped and dove for the other pillow in a mad attempt to defend himself.

“Hey!” he cried, holding his pillow up in defense. “It’s not like I said you were ugly! It’s not my fault you’re incredibly pretty and—ouch!”

Draco laughed triumphantly and grabbed Ron’s ankle, tugging hard and pulling Ron across the bed, smacking him soundly about the head. The towel was slipping precariously and Ron howled a warning that was as coherent as it was heart-felt. “At least I don’t act like a girl, Weasley. Shit, you’re such a girl that —”

Whatever else he said was lost, because Ron chose that moment to whack him in the face with the pillow and the towel was lost, slipping down Draco’s hips and pooling around his legs. While Draco was distracted, trying to snatch his towel back up, Ron tried to squirm away. He was crawling across the bed when Draco cursed under his breath and tackled him from behind, pinning him facedown.

Ron spent a precious second trying to tentatively feel if Draco had brought the towel with him or left it behind. He couldn’t tell.

“Ow, ow, seriously, ow,” Ron moaned, stunned by the weight suddenly pressing down on him.

“What?” Draco asked breathlessly, right beside Ron’s ear. He didn’t even bother to get off.

“You’re… on me.”

Draco wiggled a little. “Trust me, I’m well aware.” And then he bit the back of Ron’s neck.

Desperately trying to crawl out from under him, Ron panted wildly. “Can’t… breathe,” he said, and then yelped when Draco’s hands slipped under his shirt and lightly stroked his back. “Draco,” he moaned plaintively.

“Mmm?” Draco mumbled, distracted.

“This is pretty mortifying.”

“Why?”

“I’m… You’re on me!”

“I had noticed.” He licked the place where Ron’s shoulder met his neck and laughed breathily. “Relax, Weasley.”

“Mmm,” Ron whimpered, wiggling frantically as he tried to squirm away.

“Don’t you want me?” Draco asked, his tone playful and pouty.

“I’m angry with you,” Ron reminded him. “Ooh, stop it. Damn it, Malfoy.”

“I’m trying to make it up to you,” Draco told him, pushing his shirt up a bit and sliding lower, lightly biting the skin just above the waist of Ron’s trousers.

Panicking now, Ron rolled, hoping to stop things before they went too far. Rolling was the worst possible thing he could have done, however, because now Draco was sprawled over his legs, with his head just inches away from evidence that Ron wasn’t quite so angry as he would have liked to appear. In fact, judging from the slow and triumphant grin spreading across Draco’s lips and the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, Draco was very much aware of Ron’s growing discomfort.

“Please?” Ron whimpered.

“Please what?” Draco asked, his hands creeping up Ron’s thighs. The towel was forgotten and crumpled on the floor.

“Fuck,” Ron sighed, more in protest than in answer to Draco’s question, but with an incredibly wolfish grin, Draco took it in the most sexual way possible.

“Don’t be angry at me anymore,” Draco said coaxingly, sliding up and kissing Ron on the lips lightly.

“But…”

“Aww, Ron,” Draco murmured as sweetly as he could manage, licking Ron’s throat. “Don’t you love me?”

“Ooh,” Ron hissed, eyes flying open. “That isn’t fair, Draco Malfoy, you can’t use that against me, I won’t —”

“You won’t?” Draco repeated, grinning wickedly and shifting his hips subtly against Ron’s and laughing when Ron cursed under his breath.

He closed his eyes and stopped trying to pretend he didn’t want this, because he didn’t think anyone in the world could say no when they had a naked Draco Malfoy on top of them intent upon seducing them and, god, he’d been craving this for over a year.

If Draco was surprised when Ron suddenly growled under his breath and flipped him, so that he was pinned to the bed and Ron was on top of him, he gracefully didn’t show it. And then Ron was kissing him wildly and feverishly, whimpering low in his throat, trembling with all his pent up frustration and loneliness, as if he could split Draco open with his lips and pour all of his hurt inside of him. He couldn’t, but he tried, tracing Draco’s lips and teeth and tongue with his own, breathing heavily through his nose and trying desperately not to cry, because that would make this somehow something that it wasn’t meant to be. He did not want comfort, he wanted some measure of what he’d been missing for more than a year. Some of the desperate fire that Draco had shown him before he’d left, the sort of storm that Draco had pulled him into and held him all through, because no one had ever held Ron before, and he’d felt lonely his whole life until then.

Draco’s eyes were hazy and dark when Ron finally broke the kiss, and he smiled up at him, a soothing sort of smile that Ron felt himself fall a little more in love with.

“You’re shaking,” Draco told him, as if Ron were not already very much aware.

“You lost your towel,” Ron pointed out, just in case Draco hadn’t noticed.

“I know,” Draco smirked.

"Why... why are you always in a towel when we do this?"

"Because I'm impossible to resist while only wearing a towel," Draco pointed out.

“I’m not angry anymore,” Ron said.

“I know,” Draco repeated.

“I want to fuck you,” Ron declared.

Draco blinked and then smiled and said “Okay.”

“I really do,” Ron said earnestly, as if afraid Draco wouldn’t believe him.

“Is this your best attempt at seduction?” Draco snickered.

“With all due respect, Draco, you’re the one without any clothes on, so I’d say I’m doing a pretty good job of shagging you.”

“Shagging involves more than nudity, and I was only wearing a towel when you started.”

Lifting his eyebrows with pretended nonchalance, Ron sat up, reluctantly moving away. “Well, if that’s how you want to be about it, I must say I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I’ll owl Harry and he’d be up for a go and —”

That’s as far as he got, because, as he had spoken, Ron had so very casually made his way to the door, and just as his hand closed about the doorknob, Draco was up and off the bed, grabbing him by the back of the shirt. He jerked him around roughly and slammed him against the door, pinning him there, and smiling slowly. “You fucking prat,” he said conversationally, before kissing him hard.

Ron didn’t mind. He grinned triumphantly and let Draco force his mouth open, pressing his tongue inside. It was hotter than even before, and as wild as he’d craved the entire year that had passed, and worth nearly every morning he’d woken up hard after dreaming of just this.

A year of cold showers—no, a lifetime of cold showers, and suddenly Ron felt it was worth every minute of it, for this hot and feverish kiss. Draco was tearing at his clothing, pressing hard kisses to his lips, cheeks, and throat, growling curse words under his breath as he fumbled with Ron’s shirt. It got tangled in Ron’s arms and he swore himself as he fought to free himself from the heavy jumper as Draco gave up and left it halfway off his arms and still wrapped around his head, blinding him. He yelped when Draco licked his nipple, grazing it with his teeth, and fought even harder to get his sodding jumper off. Draco didn’t care that he was struggling, was completely caught up in biting and sucking small patterns of bruises on Ron’s chest.

Finally tearing free of the jumper, Ron growled and tangled his hands in Draco’s hair, jerking him up and kissing him, forcing his lips open. Ron’s tongue was in Draco’s mouth and Draco was biting it, sucking on it, stroking it with his own, and Ron was concentrating so hard on not melting to the floor in a ball of raging hormones (he was clinging tightly to Draco’s bare shoulders and his knees were extremely close to giving out), that Ron didn’t even notice when Draco somehow managed to undo his trousers and shove them down. He even stepped out of them and kicked them aside helpfully, and he was so caught up in the kiss that he didn’t notice.

It was easy not to pay attention after that, not to notice every kiss or touch or taste, because it was all so fast and out of control, that Ron could not focus on any individual thing. He was too lost in everything, and they fell back together onto the bed, aching and desperate, having craved this, missed this, for over a year.

It was different though, than the first time, because Ron wasn't frightened of it. He wanted it, wanted Draco, wanted to be inside Draco, though he did not know how.

Whispering gently, Draco talked him through it, guiding his hands and his body, kissing him when panic threatened and Ron nearly forgot how to breathe.

It was strange to have Draco beneath him, to be inside him, even while Draco held him and kept telling him that it was okay. It wasn't okay, it was something more, Ron couldn't have described it if he wanted to. It seemed to last forever, was over too soon, and melted into a feverish mess of sweat, breathless whispers, and a white hot sort of desire he had never experienced before.

Afterwards, weak, trembling, and rather self-conscious, Ron buried his face in Draco's shoulder and took a deep, shaky breath.

Chuckling softly, Draco tightened his arms around Ron and it took him a long moment to realize that Draco was hugging him. And when Draco kissed the top of his head, Ron decided he’d died of lung failure from breathing too heavily while shagging him, and this was heaven.

Ron shivered a little when a sudden draft trickled into the room, even though he was still sticky with sweat. Draco grumbled a little and pulled the blanket over them both, rolling so that he was on his side, facing Ron. Smiling sleepily, Ron rolled his eyes.

“Tired,” he mumbled, and Draco smoothed his sticky hair off his forehead and laughed softly.

“Need to work on that endurance of yours, love,” he teased.

“Shuddup,” Ron sighed contentedly, snuggling close. “Love you,” he whispered, and then he fell asleep.

***

Draco wasn’t there when Ron woke up, and for one long, tense moment, he thought he was going to be sick.

“No, no,” he whimpered, sitting up gingerly, because his body ached. The room was empty and he flinched.

Crawling off the bed carefully, Ron got dressed as quickly as he could; he was trembling by the time he finished and he opened the door slowly and peered out, terrified that Draco wouldn’t be there.

He wasn’t. Swallowing the urge to cry, he quietly made his way towards the kitchen. In the doorway, he nearly collapsed from relief, because Draco was there making pancakes with Ginny.

“I…” Ron started to stay, leaning heavily on the doorframe. “Hi.”

Draco looked up and almost beamed, his smile was so bright. “Hi,” he said.

Ron could have stared at him for hours, except Ginny hip-checked Draco and said sweetly, “Pancakes are burning, dear.” Then she grinned at Ron. “We’re making breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Ron echoed, blinking. He ran a hand through his messy hair. “It’s morning?”

“Mmm,” she said nonchalantly. “And has been for hours. Go shower, you’re a mess.”

Ron had just turned to obey, when Draco grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him close, placing a hot kiss on his mouth that stunned him even more than waking up and finding that Draco hadn’t disappeared in the middle of the night this time had.

Ginny was snickering in a knowing sort of way and Ron fled before she could start harping on about sex again.

He took a long, hot shower, the hot water gently working the knots out of his muscles and relaxing him, soothing his aching body. The bathroom was steamy when he got out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He stared at his distorted reflection for a long moment before rubbing off a lopsided oval with his fist and sticking his tongue out at himself. Then he grinned goofily and the grin slowly faded when he realized it was the first unrestrained, purely ecstatic smile he’d let himself smile in nearly three years.

But that was alright. At least he was smiling now.

Biting his lower lip thoughtfully, he left the bathroom, running his fingers through his wet hair. He could hear Ginny laughing and Draco saying something indistinct, and Ron paused, grinning again. He could get used to this so fast, this walking into a room to be greeted with laughter rather than silence and emptiness.

He returned to his room using his wand to dry his hair and making the bed, before returning to the kitchen. Ginny was scolding Draco for having let some of the pancakes burn and neither of them noticed Ron watching for a long moment.

When Ginny finally saw him there, she looked relieved. “Ron, good, come make the pancakes, Draco sucks.” She tugged him into the kitchen and pressed an egg-flipper into his hand, leaving him beside Draco at the wood stove and going back to mixing more pancakes.

“Burnt them, huh?” Ron whispered teasingly, not wanting to attract Ginny’s attention. She was a tyrant in the kitchen.

“Shut up,” Draco hissed back, elbowing him in the side. He shot him a glare and Ron grinned back.

“You do suck,” Ron said a moment later.

“Yeah and you like it,” Draco snapped. They glanced at each other, both talking softly so as to avoid a scolding from Ginny, both holding egg flippers like weapons, and, at the same time, they both giggled.

“Hey,” Ginny snapped. “More attention on the pancakes, less on each other.” She was beaming though, and Ron turned away quickly, flushing and wondering just how much she knew.

They finished the pancakes and ate the ones that hadn’t burnt too badly, and after they had finished, Ginny cast some cleaning charms her mother had taught her and they played cards together in the living room, without the benefit of an Anti-cheating Whacking Charm.

Draco went to shower after a few games, and Ron sighed and made himself comfortable, sure that Ginny had been just waiting for this moment to talk to him about her favourite topic, sex. When Draco ran his fingers absently through Ron’s hair on his way to the bathroom, Ron smiled at him and then flushed, glancing nervously at Ginny, who watched it all with narrowed eyes.

When Draco was gone, she tossed her cards aside and cocked her head, waiting for Ron to say something. He didn’t know what to say, and finally, she sighed and broke the silence.

“He loves you so much,” she said.

Ron blinked. “No,” he said.

“Oh, come on, Ron!” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s so obvious. I mean, don’t even try to tell me the two of you didn’t shag last night, the walls of this cottage aren’t that thick, you know.”

He winced. “I didn’t think… Sorry…” he mumbled, face turning even redder.

“Oh, forget it,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, it’s not like I stuck around and listened. There’s a reason I’ve been exhausted all day.”

Now that she mentioned it, she did look as though she hadn’t slept a bit the night before. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Ron had been so distracted by Draco that he hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, god, Gin! I’m so sorry, I never even thought!” Ron cried.

She laughed. “I said forget it. But you guys did have sex.”

He considered denying it, but it seemed pretty pointless now. Sheepishly, he nodded.

“And neither of you are freaking out about it today,” she pointed out. “I’m rather proud of you, really, Ron. I would have thought you’d be completely panicking today. And at least, this time, Malfoy stuck around… I mean, that’s gotta count for something, doesn’t it?” She was rambling now, thinking out loud, and Ron knew she didn’t expect an answer. “What makes you think he doesn’t love you?”

“Oh, he told me,” Ron said, startled that she was suddenly including him in the discussion. “He doesn’t know how. To love, I mean. And doesn’t want to learn.”

She snorted. “Typical man. He lied.”

Ron felt a fuzzy flush at that, and tried desperately not to beam like a sod. “Really? How can you tell?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Really, I don’t know how —”

She broke off abruptly because Draco was standing in the doorway, looking horrified. “What is this?” he asked, eyes wide. He was holding a large paddle-like thing that was constructed of wood and mesh.

Ron blinked and snickered a little. “It’s a snowshoe,” he said. “Muggles invented them to walk on snow, my dad used to collect them before he moved on to batteries and plugs.”

“Walk on snow?” Draco repeated skeptically. “But they’re full of holes. I can’t see how that would work.” He was turning the paddle over doubtfully.

Ron got up and took the shoe from him trying to explain the physics to him as best as he could (which wasn’t all that well). “Fuck it,” he said finally, exasperated. “They work. I’ll show you, get your cloak. I’ll go get the other shoe. Do you want to come with us, Gin?”

She was laughing hard, the sight of Ron trying to explain snowshoes to Draco too much for her, and she shook her head, still giggling. “No, no, you guys go, as soon as you’re out of here, I can get some sleep.”

Fetching three more snowshoes, Ron returned to the living room to find that Ginny had left to get some sleep and Draco was waiting with his cloak, still looking doubtful.

“Sit down, I’ll put them on for you,” Ron directed, and Draco obeyed wordlessly, smirking a little when Ron knelt at his feet and began lacing the awkward shoe onto his foot.

They clomped gracelessly out of the cottage, Draco growling in frustration and Ron laughing softly. They had to hold on to each other to keep from falling, all of their balance thrown off by the shoes, not to mention that they kept stepping on top of their own shoes and nearly falling.

Ron hopped into the snow and then turned to help Draco, taking his hand to help him keep his balance. “C’mon,” he said, grinning. “Just jump off the stairs, you won’t sink into the snow, that’s the whole point.”

“This is an incredibly bad idea,” Draco told him. “I don’t do the outdoors in winter. Too cold. Snow is an abomination.”

“You’re not frightened, are you?” Ron asked silkily.

Draco glared and jumped, nearly knocking Ron over. After they’d caught their balance and, still holding each other’s hands, they made slow and awkward progress over the snowy ground. Ron had a very basic knowledge of how to walk in snowshoes, having spent a few winters as a child trying to master them with his father, so he managed it much better than Draco, who kept getting the backs of his shoes tangled together.

They were tromping through the snow just out of sight of the cottage, when Draco glanced up from his shoes and caught Ron watching him from a short distance away. He grinned. “You can tell by these shoes how much more evolved we are than Muggles,” he said. “We invented flying broomsticks.”

“And they invented airplanes. Hurry up, I’m freezing waiting for you.”

Scowling in a good-natured fashion, Draco tried to hurry up, and ended up stumbling wildly and slamming into Ron, knocking him to the snow and landing on top of him.

“Ugh,” Draco moaned a moment later, disoriented. “Give me a fucking broomstick over this any day.”

Ron smiled, even as dazed as he was to suddenly find himself sprawled on the ground with Draco on top of him. “This isn’t so bad,” he said quietly.

“Mmm,” Draco said agreeably. Their snowshoes were tangled together, however, and Ron had no idea how they were going to manage to get untangled and back on their feet.

He made a few halfhearted attempts to jerk his shoes free, and then gave up. Draco wasn’t helping, seemed content just to lie on top of him and enjoy his wiggling. Exasperated, Ron said, “You’re not helping.”

“No, I’m not,” Draco said with a warm smile. “Good of you to notice.”

Rolling his eyes and shoving at Draco weakly, Ron scoffed. “We’ll be stuck here forever if you don’t get off me.”

Sighing, Draco gave in, and a few moments of struggle, they were free of each other and sitting alongside one another, breathing heavily. Their breath misted in the air.

“Draco?” Ron asked, after a moment, looking thoughtful.

“Mmm?”

“Will you talk to me now?”

“What? About what?”

“Yesterday, I tried talking to you. About everything. And you deliberately distracted me by seducing me.”

“Hey!” Draco cried. “If I recall correctly, Weasley, you seduced me.”

Shrugging and flushing a little, Ron said, “Be that as it may… I just wanted to talk. Will you talk to me? I’m… worried.”

“Everything’s fine, Weasley.” Draco looked properly solemn now, trying to be reassuring.

“Well, last year, you didn’t tell me anything. You made all these elaborate plans and then slipped me a potion and left, so… I think it’s understandable if I’m worried you’re about to do it again.”

“Last year was different. I had no choice.”

“You had plenty of choice!” Ron ran a hand through his hair, trying not to lose his temper. He took a careful breath. “I just… I want to know what’s going on. All of it. What happened with your father and Sean, why the Death Eaters are after you…. Why you betrayed your father and went to work for the Ministry…”

Draco looked at him, face devoid of any hint of his thoughts, and Ron felt sure he was about to be shot down again. He sighed and turned away.

“You want me to start at the beginning?” Draco asked finally.

Ron looked at him, eyes wide. Then he nodded wordlessly.

“I went to work at the Ministry as a spy. For my father. They’ve got lots of spies there, just because Harry killed Voldemort, that doesn’t mean that the Death Eaters have quit trying to… well…”

“Eat death?”

Draco stared at him blankly.

Clearing his throat, Ron motioned for Draco to continue.

“Right. Well.” Draco was still looking at Ron as if he didn’t quite understand him, and Ron squirmed, flushing. It had been a stupid thing to say… “Anyway. I was a spy. Feeding information to my father. Wasn’t very good at it.” He shrugged. “Not many people were willing to trust Lucius Malfoy’s son. Anyway.”

“Why did you stop?” Ron asked softly.

“I, err, think I…” Draco glanced away, clearing his throat.

Ron frowned. He lurched to his feet and grabbed Draco’s hand, tugging him up as well. “You what?”

“Thought I was in love.”

The ground seemed to shift a little beneath Ron’s feet and he staggered a bit, stunned. Draco watched him wordlessly, and after Ron managed to catch his balance, he whispered, “You don’t believe in love.”

“Well, I don’t now.” Draco scowled and took a hesitant step in his snowshoes, stumbling. Ron caught his arm and held him up.

“What happened?” he asked a moment later.

Draco grimaced and considered for a moment before saying, “Well… It was a stupid thing to do, really… Accidents happen, right?” He laughed a little bitterly. “Next thing I know, I’m completely obsessed — okay, I had been obsessed for a while, but it twisted and became something else, and my father… he noticed. He thought it was a game, but it wasn’t, not for me, at least. When he figured it out, that I’d fallen in love, he was furious. Threatened to disinherit me, claimed it ‘interfered with the mission’. Which it did. Because I stopped wanting to go through with the mission. I was dizzy with fucking naïve ideas of… of soul mates and fate and… and… It was messy. Disgusting, really.” He cleared his throat, flushing a little, and Ron clutched his arm, eyes wide. “My father wanted me to use it to our advantage but I couldn’t, so I quit. I didn’t do it because I didn’t want to bring my father down. I did it because I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. I was dizzy and blind and fucking stupid. Anyway…”

“Did you tell him?” Ron asked abruptly.

“Tell him?”

“Tell Harry. That you loved him. Because he’s under the impression that you mess with people’s heads for fun.”

Draco was staring at him now, and he said softly, “How did you know? I wasn’t going to tell you it was him.”

Snorting, Ron said, “How dense do you think I am?”

“Well. Yes, I told him. Eventually. It was too late, though. It was after… everything had fallen apart. He didn’t…” Draco considered carefully, and Ron wondered if he was searching for the best words to incriminate himself the least. Or to embarrass himself less. He let out a careful breath. “He fucked me a thousand times and didn’t mind kissing me and all that, but I guess he couldn’t love me. I mean, really, why would he? He’s… The-Boy-Who-Lived. If anything, I guess it was… all the hate… he never did know how to handle his hate. So he expressed it that way, I guess. By… screaming at me and trying to hurt me and when that didn’t work, he… fucked me.” Draco laughed, but it sounded sharp. “It didn’t matter. I didn’t tell him I thought I loved him until he told me he didn’t want me anymore. It was… I was… Oh fuck, Ron, it was the saddest fucking thing. I fucking begged…” He ran a hand through his hair and snorted in disgust. “Fuck. Anyway… We still had to work together. That’s how we got together in the first place. They assigned me to be his partner… I guess, so he could keep an eye on me. No one trusted me. We worked together. We fucked around a few times after that…” He swallowed hard and turned away, scoffing softly in disgust. “I couldn’t go crawling back to my father and I’d been disowned, so… the Ministry was paying me to be a spy, even though they suspected that’s what I was… I actually tried going back to my father.” He laughed again. “But the Ministry fed me false information and a bunch of my father’s men were captured. He blamed me. Said I was a double agent.”

Ron let go of Draco’s arm carefully and turned away, thinking hard, trying to process it all. “You fucked around with him and got in trouble so were assigned to be Ginny’s bodyguard. You figured out about the journal linking her to Voldemort and the ritual they planned to do to raise him with it. You got the journal, gave it to the Ministry, and disappeared for over a year, but they found you. Your father killed Sean and then you killed him and came here.”

“Yes.”

“And you loved Harry.”

“Yes.”

Ron frowned. “And he… didn’t love you.”

“He loved you,” Draco said very quietly.

Flinching, Ron shook his head. “That’s funny,” Ron said, laughing, though it sounded more like a sob.

“What is?”

“That you loved him and begged him to love you and I’d do anything for you to love me but you’re too busy loving him to even fucking care.” And then he was trying to run away, because he was about to cry and that was mortifying, but the fucking snowshoes got tangled together only three steps away and he fell forward into the snow and lay there, sobbing.

It took Draco a few seconds to get to his side, cursing foully and twisting sharply to snap the laces of the snowshoes. He fell to his knees beside Ron, and touched his back, saying in a low voice that trembled with fury, “I don’t love him. I don’t fucking love him. Love is an embarrassment. It’s degrading and disgusting and wrong and I don’t love anyone, I don’t fucking love anyone.”

Ron lifted himself out of the snow, still hiccupping and crying, and stared at Draco blankly for a long moment. And then he crawled onto his lap and curled up against him and sniffled. “You’re wrong,” he said.

Breathing heavily, Draco closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Ron, supporting him while he cried. “You’re going to freeze,” he said, trying to dry Ron’s tears as quickly as they were falling. “You cry an awful lot for a boy.”

He was teasing him quietly now, and Ron smiled weakly at him. “But you don’t love Harry?”

“I don’t. Maybe I never did. I told you. I don’t believe —”

Ron kissed his lips to shut him up and then shivered, tears freezing to his eyelashes. “I do love you,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t degrade me or humiliate me.”

“It makes you cry,” Draco said.

Hiccupping softly, Ron whispered, “My dad’s gonna kill you for breaking his snowshoes.”

And Draco laughed a little and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss, even though it tasted salty from Ron’s tears, and though Draco didn’t say he loved him, Ron thought that maybe he did, just a little, and maybe that was enough. Maybe the words didn’t matter and maybe they did, but surely they’d have forever and Draco would find the words before forever was over.

# Chapter 10

Unbecoming

Chapter Ten

When they returned to the cottage, Ginny was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes red and bloodshot. She was sipping coffee and staring into the fire in the hearth, though she looked up when she heard the door open.

Her brown eyes took in Draco’s broken shoes and Ron’s tearstained face, and she sighed. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew leaving you alone was a bad idea.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Draco asked pointedly, taking his cloak off.

“I tried. Then I had horrible visions of the two of you having mass panic attacks and murdering each other out in the snow. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ron mumbled. “Forget it.” He tried to smile, and it was a sour attempt.

Ginny’s eyes narrowed and she sniffed disdainfully but didn’t reply. Ron sat on the floor and started trying to repair Draco’s broken shoe with his wand, but he kept having to pause and sniffle loudly. It was quite pathetic.

Finally, when Ginny could stand it no more, she growled, threw her blanket aside, grabbed Draco by the arm, and dragged him from the room, into a bedroom. Ron watched, wide-eyed.

“If they’re shagging,” he said to himself quietly, “I’m gonna have no choice but to throw myself off the nearest sodding bridge I can find.”

He went back to repairing the shoes, glancing up every now and again when the voices got particularly vocal from behind the door. They were shouting at each other but he couldn’t make out the words.

After the shoes were finished, Ron stashed them back in the closet, grabbed his cloak, stole one of Draco’s cigarettes, and went out onto the front porch to smoke it. His hands were trembling when he lit it, but Ron was alone and, with no one to notice, he wasn’t insecure about it. He sucked idly on the cigarette and let the smoke back out through his mouth and nose, watching it swirl and twist in the cold air thoughtfully. He felt like an emotional wreck. It was true, he did cry too much for a boy.

He wasn’t crying now, however. He was shaking a little, and aching, but he wasn’t crying. His eyelashes still felt sticky, however, and the moisture there began to freeze, until tiny crystals of ice had formed. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, sighing and taking another drag of the cigarette. It was calming and he couldn’t hear the shouting from outside, and he relaxed, slowly, his eyelids fluttering and sliding shut. He was cold and shivering but he’d rather be cold and shivering than inside and terrified, and he gradually felt himself falling asleep.

The door flew open and slammed against the wall mere inches from his face.

It was Draco, and he looked absolutely livid. He didn’t see Ron at first, who was too disoriented to call out to him, and Draco stalked out of the cottage, hissing under his breath.

“You’re leaving, then?” Ron asked softly.

Draco spun quickly. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he snarled.

Ron blinked. “Why?”

“I thought you’d left! You weren’t there and I couldn’t find you and I thought you were gone!”

“I was just thinking,” Ron said defensively. “I didn’t want to hear the shouting, so I came out here. I wasn’t leaving.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your sister lost her mind.”

A sudden thought made Ron yelp. “You haven’t killed her, have you?”

“No, though she’d deserve it if I had. She’s inside, drinking more coffee and calmly waiting for me to drag you back so she can yell at you too.”

Ron flinched. “Lovely.” There was a tense silence, and Ron finally broke it by saying softly, “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’d better go in.” He tossed his cigarette butt aside and slipped past Draco without touching him.

Ginny saw him and put her coffee mug aside. “ C’mon,” she said grimly, taking his hand and tugging him into her room. Draco flopped down on the couch, growling under his breath, and Ron smiled weakly at him before Ginny closed the bedroom door.

“Sit,” she commanded, and he did, on the edge of the bed. She studied his face carefully, and Ron braced himself for shouting. After a moment, however, Ginny said quietly, “Are you alright?”

It was an unexpected gentleness, and Ron’s eyes welled up with tears. “I… I don’t know,” he confessed.

“Aw, fuck, Ron,” she sighed, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, swallowing hard and closing his eyes, determined not to cry.

“I wouldn’t have let you fall for him if I knew it was going to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying,” he told her.

She smoothed his hair and smiled. “I know, I can see.” She was silent for a moment, and then asked, “What happened?”

“Oh, he just told me why he doesn’t believe in love. And why his father was so determined to kill him.”

“The two are connected?”

“Yes. Because Draco found his soul mate and his soul mate was Harry Potter except that Harry didn’t agree with that but he still fucked Draco anyway, and so Lucius disowned him and tried to kill him.”

Ginny considered this for a moment and then said, “And that’s why he said he doesn’t love you?”

“Mmm.”

“What have you got to do with all that?”

“Nothing. But he claims love is degrading.”

She stuck her tongue out. “It’s not. You’ll have to change his mind.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

“What do you mean? Of course you can. Shut up,” she said, shoving him lightly. He smiled a little, closing his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder. “What are you thinking?” she asked a moment later.

“Just now?”

“Yes.”

“That I’d like a drink. A stiff drink,” he confessed. And then he nearly started to cry. He didn’t, though, because he cried too often for a boy.

“Oh, Ron,” she sighed. “Here, lie down…” she guided him until he was lying on her bed, and then tucked the covers up to his chin. “There. Sleep, it’ll be better in the morning, you’re just tired, is all. Didn’t get much sleep last night, I bet.” She grinned a little. “And don’t worry overly much about Malfoy, he’ll come around. Wait here, I’ll get you a drink. Not a stiff one, but a drink at least. Best I can do.”

She left the room, talking softly to Draco for a moment, then returning with some tea. Watching carefully until he’d drank the whole thing, she took the cup back and left the room.

The walls swung dizzily and Ron decided he was more exhausted than he thought. His eyelids fluttered sleepily.

“Ron?” It was Draco, standing in the doorway.

“Mmm?” he murmured, yawning.

“Are you alright?”

“Wha?” The room was spinning alarmingly.

“Ginny told me you were crying.”

“I don’t cry,” he said, his voice slurred. He was so sleepy.

“Yeah…” Draco trailed off uncertainly.

Frowning, Ron mumbled, “I’m so tired.”

“That would be because your sister slipped a potion into your tea.”

Ron panicked, leaping out of the bed and grabbing Draco’s arm before the vertigo of the sudden movement could catch up with him. “I swear to fucking god, Draco, if you planned to drug me and leave me again…”

“Okay, calm down,” Draco said, alarmed and catching Ron as he swayed dizzily. “Whoa. Breathe. I’m not going anywhere, she just thought you should sleep, because you were upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he growled. “And I’m not crying either.” Tears were running down his cheeks.

“Okay, okay, you’re not,” Draco said quickly. “Shh, stop… okay, fuck it.” He pushed Ron back to the bed and forced him to lie down, covering him up again. Ron still hadn’t let go of his arm.

“Stay with me,” Ron ordered. “Fucking stay with me. If you leave, I swear…”

“I’m not going to leave, fuck,” Draco mumbled, even as he fell into the bed and let Ron curl up around him, pinning him there.

“Stay,” Ron whispered again.

Ginny popped her head in the door and growled. “I told you to leave him alone for tonight, Malfoy,” she snapped. “God, it’s like bloody musical beds in this sodding place.” She closed the door and the room was cast into darkness.

***

“Wake up. Wake up wake up wake up.” Every word was accompanied by a jab or a shake or, in one instance, a kiss.

Ron cracked open one eye and grimaced. “Draco?” he asked.

“Mmm?”

“It’s fucking bright in here.” He closed his eye.

“It’s morning, that’s why. Are you awake?”

“No,” he moaned.

Draco licked his ear.

Eyes flying open, Ron scowled. “What are you doing?”

“Wake up,” Draco said.

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been thinking…”

Ron grimaced and rubbed his eyes sleepily, mind still hazily trying to piece the night before together. “About what?”

“Everything. Ron, I think I should leave.”

He blinked and held perfectly still for a long moment, and then started to shout. “Leave? Leave? What do you mean, leave? You can’t just leave! I hate you! No, seriously, I fucking hate you!”

"Stop... stop fucking shouting!" Draco snapped. "You never listen, you always just freak out without even listening!"

Ron stared at him nearly blankly for a long moment and then shook his head in disgust. "You know what, fine. You want to go, then go, I don't care anymore." He rolled out of the bed and would have stomped away, but Draco grabbed his wrist.

"Listen to me," he said quietly. "Stop pretending you don't care, we both know you do."

Ron glanced back at him, his lower lip trembling just a little, though he tried to hide it. "You're going to use that against me forever, aren't you?" he asked softly. "The fact that I accidentally told you I loved you." He cocked his head thoughtfully, trying to decide whether or not he was strong enough for this. "You don't have to leave," he said quietly.

Looking wary, Draco frowned. "Why not?"

"Because you're leaving so you won't have to be around me, and you won't have to worry."

"That's not... it isn't because..." Exasperated, Draco let out a frustrated breath. "It's not that I don't want to be around you, I just--"

"No. It doesn't matter. I don't care why you feel you've got to leave me and I don't want to hear whatever excuses you come up with for why you feel you can't stand to be near me anymore. I'm sick of sitting here waiting for the moment when you snap and disappear in the middle of the night again and I'm not going to do it anymore! You said love is degrading, well it hasn't been, not for me, and I won't let it get that far. I won't beg you and I won't let you walk away from me again. Fuck you, I don't care. You're not leaving me, because I'm leaving you first. I'm going back to London. So you can go do whatever the fuck it is you think you have to, and I won't care. You might not have noticed, but in the year you were gone, I got over it. I got a life outside of waiting for you to show up again."

"I had noticed," Draco said very, very quietly.

Ron blinked and then shook his head. "Good. I'm going home. You can stay here or leave if you want, it doesn't matter to me anymore."

"I thought you loved--"

"I don't believe in love." Ron smiled sharply and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "Your wand is in the cupboard over the sink in the kitchen."

"Ron. Ron, wait, I didn't want--"

"I'm sick of trying to figure out what, exactly, it is you want, Malfoy." He slammed the door behind him.

Ginny was standing in the middle of the living room, looking pale and stunned. "Ron, you can't just leave like this," she whispered.

"I have to." He ran a shaking hand through his hair, even as he heard Draco shouting something from the bedroom, and the sound of something crashing to the floor. Draco was trashing the room. "I can't... I can't do this. He doesn't want to be here."

Something else smashed in the room he'd just left, and Ron flinched, letting out a shaky breath. "I'm going home, going back to London. He... he knows where to find me, if he ever wants to find me."

"If you're doing this to see if he'll come after you, he's Draco Malfoy. He doesn't chase after anyone. Don't..." she whispered.

He ignored her, though it hurt and he felt like he was about to cry. He hugged her tightly, kissed her forehead, and said quietly, "Take care of him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, okay? I don't think anyone's ever left him before, but I just... if he doesn't want... Fuck, never mind. Come and see me soon, alright?"

She nodded tearfully and Ron Apparated out of the cottage, back to his London flat.

The sounds of Draco trashing the bedroom faded and a dull, hushed silence fell over him. He was home, and it looked empty, was so quiet that it seemed to echo.

"I'm alright," he told himself, because he didn't need Draco Malfoy. He loved him, sure, but he didn't need him. Could live with out him. It would be much more painless, this empty, sterile flat. He had his job and visits from Hermione and his family and that was all he needed. Love was for the weak, and Ron had grown out of being weak.

Still, he couldn't help his eyes stinging and his throat feeling tight as he forced himself into the kitchen to brew some tea, the monotonous task busying his hands and taking his mind off what he'd just done.

He wondered if it would be more than a year again before he saw Draco, and wondered how he'd survive it. If he would survive it, and if he even wanted to.

***

It didn't take a year, though when Draco showed up at Ron's flat a week later, it certainly wasn't the 'I love you I'm sorry I'm such an arse' scenario that Ron had secretly been daydreaming of, even while writing Quidditch reports for The Daily Prophet.

"Get in the fucking car."

Without another word, Draco turned and walked away. "C-Car?" Ron stammered, his initial rush of pure heat that was an intoxicating mixture of sexual frustration and something softer and fuzzier fading as Draco walked away. It was snowing heavily, and windy as well.

"Mmm," Draco said, without looking back. There was a car parked at the curb and he climbed into the backseat while Ron stared in confusion. There was a tense moment in which his uncertainty held him frozen, and then the driver's side door opened and Harry appeared, looking irritated. He jogged up to the door.

"Ron," he said, smiling in a distracted way. "Sorry, I wouldn't have sent him to get you if I'd known he'd be such a dick about it."

"I... I guess I couldn't have expected better from him. What's going on? Why are you and Draco Malfoy driving about London in a Muggle car?"

Harry's face sobered. "It's Ginny, Ron. She should never have come back to England, William had tracers on her. As soon as she came close enough to the origin of the tracking charm, it told them where she was. They took her four days ago."

The world shifted just a little under Ron's feet. "What?" he whispered. "What... I... four days? Is she okay? Where is she?" He was hyperventilating, and Harry grabbed his wrist.

"Calm down, it won't help if you lose it now. Four days, yeah. We didn't know until they sent Draco an owl."

"Owl. Why did they... why..." He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"They think she's his lover," Harry said quietly. "They think that's why the two of them were always together. Because they're in love."

A burst of surprise laughter split the air. "In love. And they're what, ransoming her?"

"No," he whispered. "They're offering an exchange. His life for hers."

"Oh my god," he moaned.

Draco was there suddenly, his face cold and cruel in the darkness. "Are we done talking?" he asked nastily. "Because quite honestly, there are more important things we could be doing."

Ron stared at him blankly, breathing heavily. "C'mon," Harry said gently. "Get in the car, we'll talk more on the way."

"I should... should owl mum and tell her..." Ron whispered, eyes very wide. He felt rather faint.

"Don't bother, we'll have Ginny back before your mother can worry," Draco said, and Ron scanned his face for any hint of anything other than coldness. There was none.

"You promise?" he asked.

"Just get in the car." Draco walked back to the car, and Harry took Ron's hand and tugged him out of the flat.

He sat in the passenger seat and Draco sat sullenly in the back. Though Ron kept darting hesitant looks in the rearview mirrors, Draco never looked back.

"Why did you come for me?" Ron asked Harry, finally. Harry was driving. "And where are we going? Are we... are we gonna give them Draco?" Draco snorted but didn't say anything, and Ron flinched. "I didn't mean that like it sounded," he whispered.

"We came for you because Draco wanted to," Harry said. Ron blinked, surprised, but before he could ask, Harry continued. "We're going to the prearranged meeting point to exchange prisoners. No, we are not going to give them Draco. Not if we can help it."

"We can help it," Ron said quickly. Draco finally met his eyes in the mirror, though he still looked cold and remote.

"Even if it means losing your sister?" Harry said solemnly, glancing at Ron quickly and then back to the road.

"Why did Draco want me to come?" he whispered.

"Don't ask me," Harry said blandly. "We needed someone to wait in the car and drive Ginny home. If anything goes wrong, and if Ginny's not... well... someone will have to see to her and make sure she gets out okay. Draco thought it should be you."

A sudden realization made Ron frown. "You don't want me to be here," he said.

Harry shrugged. "Draco insisted." There was a tense silence, and then, "I don't know why, since you two obviously aren't on the best of terms, but he wanted you here."

"Why?" Ron asked softly, looking back at Draco. Draco didn't reply.

Harry cleared his throat and said, "Before Ginny was captured, he was at my flat in Hogsmeade--"

"Shut up, Potter," Draco snarled.

"At your flat?" Ron echoed, a lump rising in his throat.

"Yes, he showed up there in a terrible rage, said he needed me and--"

"Needed you?" Ron whispered, feeling ill.

Draco slammed his foot against the back of Harry's seat. "Shut the fuck up!"

Glancing in the rearview mirror nervously, Harry continued. "Needed me, yeah. That he wanted to take them out, once and for all, so he could stop running. He didn't want to run and hide anymore because--"

"I swear to fucking god, Potter, if you don't shut your goddamned mouth right fucking now..."

"Because he had decided that he couldn't stand running anymore. I asked him if it was because of you and he laughed and said--"

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" Draco was getting hysterical, and Ron watched him nervously.

"Harry, maybe you shouldn't," he said quietly, worried because Draco was frantically trying to undo his seatbelt but failing because he did not understand how the Muggle device worked.

"Well if he won't tell you, I have to!" Harry snapped. "Fuck, Draco, grow up. He said that it was because of you, but only a little. That he had decided that he wanted to-- ouch! Stop fucking kicking my seat, Malfoy! That he had wanted to be with you without putting you in danger and when he'd tried to tell you-- Fuck! Malfoy!" Harry lost his temper, pulled out his wand, and cast a Full-Body Bind on Draco, who looked stunned and furious, frozen in the backseat. "He said," Harry continued quietly, "That he had wanted to be with you and not put you in danger, and he had decided to end things once and for all, but when he'd tried to tell you that, you'd freaked out and left him. And he wanted to end it anyway, because he was sick of hiding and running."

Ron blinked, still staring at Draco in shock. "What?" he whispered. "I thought he was leaving me."

Harry gave him a measured look and then said, "Shit, I've got to get some petrol."

A moment later, they were pulling into a petrol station and Harry got out of the car. There was a tense silence, and Draco was still cursed. Closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath, Ron undid his seatbelt and climbed in the back.

"Draco?" he whispered. His voice was thick. "Was that... Did you... I wasn't even... I'm... Really?"

Draco didn't answer, and Ron looked away, eyes flooding with tears. Then he remembered the body bind and turned back. Taking a deep breath, he leaned close and kissed Draco's lips softly. "I'm sorry," he said, very softly. "I thought... oh fuck."

He pulled out his wand and ended the charm.

"If you ever, ever fucking touch me again," Draco hissed, pulling away, until he was nearly huddled against the door. "I'll rip your bloody arm off."

Ron flinched. "I'm sorry, I--"

"I honestly don't fucking care."

"Draco--"

Draco deliberately turned his back, and Ron, mouth hanging open just slightly, felt beaten and raw.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. Draco didn't reply.

Harry came back, glanced once at the both of them staring out opposite windows and carefully not touching, and sighed. "Well," he said. "That was a perfectly wasted opportunity." He got into the driver's seat and started the car.

They drove in silence for a while, heading out of London, and Ron stared blankly out the window, forgetting to breathe, forgetting to blink, until his lungs and his eyes began to burn. He rested his forehead against the cold window and closed his eyes. He coached himself to breathe deeply until the pain in his stomach that felt empty and hollow had faded, a bit.

"I was waiting for you," he said quietly. "I don't know if it matters or not, but if you didn't come for me in the next three days, I was going to track you down and beat you over the head until you got over this fucking idea of yours that love is degrading."

"Oh, and being beaten over the head and brainwashed, that's not degrading?" Draco snapped. At least it was a reply.

"Degrading?" Harry repeated. "Shit, Draco, you didn't tell Ron that love was degrading, did you? Even I'm not that dense about relationships!"

"Not that dense?" Draco hissed.

"He did," Ron told Harry.

"Not that fucking dense? Are you sure?" Draco laughed coldly.

"Draco, don't," Ron whispered, turning away from the window.

"Don't what?" Harry watched them both briefly in the mirror.

"Don't what?" Draco echoed mockingly.

"Don't take your anger at me out on Harry. What happened between you guys was a long time ago." Ron shook his head. "Harry doesn't know."

"I don't know what?" Harry cried.

"That Draco loved you and that he believes love is degrading because of... of loving you." Ron tried to say it gently, but the words were harsh and would have been, no matter the tone he chose.

They reached the city limits of London, and Draco was staring sullenly out his window, and Ron was watching him worriedly. Harry's pale face was a blurry reflection in the rearview mirror as he kept shooting terrified looks at both of them.

Finally, Harry pulled over and shut off the car. "I think we need to talk," he said, turning around and looking at Draco, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. Around them, a heavy curtain of falling snow nearly blocked their view of the road.

"Oh, good, Ginny's life is at stake and we've pulled over for a chat. Fucking lovely." Draco slumped in his seat.

"Draco..." Harry said, taking a deep breath. "I didn't know."

Draco didn't reply, didn't look away from the window. Harry looked at Ron pleadingly. "I swear, I thought... I didn't know he was serious. He was never serious. I thought it was... a mind game... a power trip. You know. That's why I was so worried, last year, when you and him..."

"Worried?" Draco scoffed. "You were in love with him!"

Ron felt his eyes welling up with tears again and, figuring Draco and Harry would be better off working this out alone, he opened the door and slammed it behind him as he got out.

He walked a short ways, kicking at the snow and trying not to cry. It was very silent, save for the occasional car driving by, and very dark, not to mention cold. The snowfall had turned into a snowstorm, and he could barely see the car from only a short distance away. He hadn't brought a cloak with him and he shivered.

He fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette, lighting it and smoking absently, more because the brief glow of the tip was reassuring somehow, than because he liked it. He liked the way the smoke curled and the ash on the end of the cigarette burned red.

It only took three minutes for Draco to get out of the car, slamming the door furiously. He glanced at Ron and would have sneered and ignored him, but saw how pitifully he was shivering.

"Aw fuck, you're useless," he mumbled, tossing his own cloak around Ron's shoulders.

"You'll be cold."

"Shut up." Draco took the cigarette from between Ron's lips and took a long drag. "We have to get going."

"Have you and Harry--"

"Just get in the car."

Feeling decidedly miserable, Ron hugged Draco's cloak around him and snuggled into it, following him back to the car.

It was silent and tense all the way to the place where the meeting had been arranged. Harry pulled the car over a short distance away, out of sight of the clearing where the exchange would take place.

"This isn't a good idea," he said.

"What isn't? Getting Ginny back?" Ron cried.

"No. We'll get her back. I just don't like the idea of leaving you here alone and unprotected."

"I can take care of myself," Ron said, stung at the implication that he would need someone to protect him. "Just get Ginny back."

Draco shrugged. "It'll be fine. He's not going to be in danger here, they won't even know he's here. We'll go into the clearing, and Potter, you get Ginny out as soon as the exchange is made, and then come back, I expect I'll need backup getting out of there. Ron, you just drive away as fast as you can as soon as Ginny's in the car. You know how to drive?"

"Vaguely," he said truthfully.

"We brought the car so that, even if Ginny can't travel herself, you can get her out," Draco said, was he fumbled with the seatbelt.

"Can't travel herself?" he asked nervously.

"The owl did not guarantee that she wouldn't be hurt and she has been with them four days... Any number of things could have happened her in that time." Harry looked at Ron solemnly. "But we'll get her back, Ron, I swear." He got out of the car, and Ron expected Draco to follow, without a word. He was nervous and scared and worried that he'd never see any of them again, and didn't know what to say.

Draco broke the silence, starting him. "You'll be alright," he said abruptly. "That's why I wanted you. Because I needed someone to see that Ginny got away alright, and your brothers wouldn't handle it as well as you would. Just stay strong, alright? Don't panic, everything will be fine."

Ron looked at him in silence for a long moment. "Thank you," he said. "For bringing me. I would have thought I'd be the last person you'd choose to help."

"You told me that some people are worth risking everything for, and I trust your sister is one of them."

"So are you," Ron said quickly, before he could lose his nerve.

"You don't love me," Draco scoffed. "You don't believe in love. But do you trust me?"

"Yes," Ron said, without pause.

"I would not have thought of bringing you along if there was even the slightest chance you'd be hurt, even after you left me. Will you remember that?"

"Yes," Ron repeated, this time more slowly. "I will."

"And you won't do anything stupid? No attempts at being a hero?"

"I won't do anything. I'll stay here and wait. I swear."

"Good then. Good. I'll be back." He started getting out of the car.

"Draco. Draco, wait." Ron said hurriedly. "If... if they, like, find me... "

"They won't."

"But if I die--"

"I just told you that you weren't allowed to die."

"But if I do, I want you to know that I love you."

"Again, we covered that as well. You don't."

Ron took of Draco's cloak and handed it to him, and while Draco's hands were tangled in the cloak, he leaned close and kissed him hard. "Yes I do," he whispered.

"I told you if you touched me again, I'd rip your arm off," Draco said, breath brushing against Ron's lips.

"Was worth it," he said easily. "Losing an arm for a goodbye kiss."

Draco studied his eyes for a minute and then smiled faintly. "It wasn't a goodbye kiss."

"Then there will be more kisses?" Ron asked, feeling more chipper than he had in a week.

"No... I just mean that you're not going to die, I won't allow it. Now shut up. Take this, it'll get cold in here, without the heat on." He gave Ron back the cloak.

"I can keep myself warm with a spell."

"Just keep it." Draco started getting out of the car again, and Ron watched him go, eyes stinging. Glancing back once with a reassuring smile, Draco slammed the door and jogged after Harry, who had already started walking. It was only seconds later that he was lost in the falling snow.

Climbing into the driver's seat, Ron didn't put the cloak on, but he pulled it up around his shoulders like a blanket, and snuggled into it. He was worried and felt very much alone, as the snow fell more and more heavily, blocking out the entire world. But Ginny would be alright and they'd all come back, Draco had promised.

Time passed very slowly and Ron grew dizzy watching the snow swirl in the cold wind. It was very dark and quiet, and Ron buried his face in the cloak and breathed deeply, inhaling faint traces of Draco's scent, which was strangely calming.

"It'll all be over soon," he whispered reassuringly.

And then what? He could go home and write his reports and eat and sleep and work and eat and sleep again and... he frowned, because he'd been so proud of himself in this last year, for making his life into something and it had just occurred to him that maybe he wasn't terrified and drunk all the time any more, but everything was still... empty. There were many different types of loneliness, and things were rather sterile in his life, and he'd thought, for a year, that it was a calm and peace that he'd craved. It wasn't. There was only one thing he craved, and that was Draco, but the very thought of Draco coming back to London and staying with him forever and ever seemed laughable now. After Ron had left him. It was unforgivable, he knew. Leaving a Malfoy. Walking away. Malfoys never followed, never gave second chances, and never got over a slight like that one.

So Draco would bring Harry and Ginny back, and then go home, wherever he called home now, and Ron would go home and write his reports, and everything would be empty and flat. He frowned. Maybe Ginny would live with him for a while... That didn't help him look forward to it, however.

He cursed softly and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel, finally admitting that he'd spent his entire year building something of his life to make himself at least a little bit more worth Draco, on the off chance that Draco ever came back. The entire idea that he'd built a life because he wanted to have one to share with Draco was disheartening, especially now, when Draco wanted nothing to do with him. It was pointless and it was fucking stupid and Ron was sick of the whole idea that the only time life was worth living was when Draco was there to aggravate him. What sort of person's existence was based on someone who spent all his time either pissing him off or shagging him?

Forcing his thoughts away, Ron turned and breathed on the frosty window, idly drawing pictures in the fog. He smiled a little, his thoughts turning away from anger and bitterness, to other things, daydreams about what it would be like if Draco did love him and did want to live with him. His daydreams had reached a sickeningly sweet stage that involved white picket fences and puppy dogs, when Ron suddenly realized that nearly an hour had gone by, and Harry had not brought Ginny to the car.

Panic hit him suddenly and he glanced around at the heavy snowfall and into the darkness beyond. What if they'd gotten lost in the snow?

Though he'd been cautioned to keep the engine off so that no one would hear, Ron turned it on, fiddling with the controls until the headlights came on. They barely made a dent in the heavy snow, and he grew even more worried, scanning the darkness frantically, trying to calculate how much time had passed.

What if they'd been led into a trap or killed or taken prisoner? Lost in the snow? Grim scenarios piled up in his mind, until he started breathing so heavily in panic, that he grew dizzy.

The panic became a cold, cold fear a moment later, however, because all the waiting was over and they were back, except Draco wasn't walking. Harry was carrying him and, though they were just shadows, nearly blocked out from the snow and the darkness, Ron could see the blood.

Before he could react or even catch his breath, Harry was throwing the back door open and lying Draco inside.

"Get his shirt off," he snapped to Ginny, who was covered in blood herself, and pale, terrified, underneath it. "You're smaller than me, it'll be easier for you to do it."

Ginny nodded and crawled on top of Draco, whose eyes were closed and whose face had quite a bit of blood on it as well, and started tearing at his shirt, her fingers trembling.

"What happened?" Ron whimpered a long moment later.

Harry glanced up, looking almost startled to see him there. "There was a fight," he said. Then he turned back to Draco, watching critically as Ginny fumbled with the shirt.

"Is he... is he alright?" Ron could not look away from Draco's face, sticky with his own blood.

"He's breathing." Harry didn't look up.

Ginny did, trying to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry," she said. "We'll take care of him."

Draco's shirt was off now, and there was a deep wound in his chest, above the heart, bleeding heavily. "I haven't got a potion to clot the blood and it's bleeding too badly to just seal the wound without internal scarring," Harry said, a moment later. "We've got to get him back to London." He was carefully inspecting the wound, and even that gentle examination made Draco flinch and moan a bit, still unconscious.

"It's hurting him," Ron said softly, eyes stinging. "Oh my god."

"I'll cast a charm to help with the pain," Ginny told him. "He won't feel it for a bit. Harry's right, we've got to get him back."

"What happened? I mean, there was a fight, but how did... what happened?" Ron looked pleadingly at Ginny.

"Well, it was a trap," she said. "They were going to pretend to let me go and then, after they'd captured Draco, take Harry and I as well. So it got rather violent when Draco realized this, and we started fighting them all, but there were eight of them... William... William and Draco were dueling. And then William said... said that he was going to kill the three of us, and then..." she trailed off, clearing her throat.

"They didn't want the Ministry to know what had happened to us, and that meant destroying all the witnesses, so that they'd think Draco and I just... well, went missing. Like we did sometimes, before. When we were... together. Or whatever." Harry glanced at Ron and then back at Draco, as Ginny cast the pain charm and bandaged the wound with magic.

"Kill the witnesses," Ron echoed, eyes widening.

"One of them was on his way to kill you, but he got lost in the snow. We've got to get out of here before he finds his way to the car," Harry said.

"They told Draco they were gonna kill me."

Ginny nodded and said gently, "He was distracted, Ron. His reactions were all off and William had a dagger. While Draco was distracted, he threw it and it hit Draco in the chest."

Ron flinched and would have started to cry. "We've got no time for that," Harry snapped. "Just... fuck. We've got to get him to London. I'll drive. Ron... keep pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. He might wake up, now that he won't feel the pain, so if he does, just keep him calm."

He crawled into the back, still stunned and shaking, and Ginny carefully arranged Draco so that his head was on Ron's lap, and then smoothed the cloak Ron handed her over him to keep him warm.

"He'll be fine," she promised, before getting into the passenger seat.

For the first short part of the journey, Ron was afraid to move or breathe for fear of upsetting Draco, making the wound hurt, or waking him. Tears burned in his eyes, however, and he was trembling, one hand under the cloak and flattened over the bandage, the other carefully flat on the seat beside him.

At one point, after his hand had become sticky with Draco's blood, and Draco's skin began heating a little with fever, Draco moaned softly, and Ron flinched.

"Shh," he whispered, though Draco couldn't hear. He touched his face gently. "You're alright now." He cradled Draco's head with his hand, fingers buried in his hair, and listened carefully for the other boy's breathing. It was there, light and soft, uneven, but still there.

"Just breathe," Ron said, aware of the strangeness of it. Usually, Draco had to coax him to breathe, when panic threatened, or pain, or desire.

He leaned down and brushed his lips over Draco's forehead, which was warm with a growing fever.

Draco woke at the light touch, eyelids fluttering and lips parting, just a little. "Ron?" he asked, voice rough. He reached for Ron's hand and Ron took his quickly, stroking the back of it with his thumb.

"Don't, you'll make it bleed more," Ron cautioned, holding his hand tightly.

"It doesn't hurt," Draco scoffed, though a strange, rattling sort of breath echoed in his throat when he swallowed.

"I know it doesn't," Ron said softly, blinking back tears. "You're alright, that's why."

"Too much blood," Draco mumbled, trying to sit up.

Ron held him down. "Don't. Don't move. You're fine."

"Am I dying?" Draco went still, looking up at Ron in the flashing shadows of the streetlights they were driving under.

"No," he said very quietly, his voice cracking.

“I don’t… I don’t want to die,” Draco said, and he sounded completely stunned by that fact.

“Shhh,” Ron whispered. “Don’t be scared, you’re not going to die.”

“No… No, I’m not scared… it’s just… I don’t… don’t want to leave you.

“You won’t, you won’t, I won’t let you go.”

“Is this… this is love. Is this love?” he said faintly, looking startled.

And then Ron started to cry.

"Keep pressure on the wound," Harry snapped from the front seat, and so Ron buried his face in one of his bloodstained hands and pressed down hard with the other, to stop the bleeding. The added pressure made Draco moan again and lose consciousness, and Ron just sobbed harder into his hand.

Chapter Eleven

"You're covered in blood, sweetie," Ginny said very gently, sitting beside Ron, who had been curled up on the couch for nearly an hour now without moving.

He stared blankly at her. "I know."

"You should get cleaned up. Shower. It'll be a little while before we know."

He sucked in a shaky breath and said, "I don't want to be in the shower if he..."

She touched his shoulder. "He's not going to."

Because it was the first comfort anyone had offered him since they'd gotten Draco back to Ron's flat, Ron let himself fall sideways until his head was pillowed on Ginny's shoulder. "I know," he said, voice muffled.

Stroking his hair, she said gently, "You should rest. They're still working on getting the blood to slow. It's going to take a while, Ron."

"I don't want to rest."

"You're being stubborn."

He smiled, just a little. "I know."

She sighed and stroked his hair, which was sticky from Draco's blood. "Are you alright?" she asked a moment later.

"Draco's going to be okay, isn't he?" Ron whispered, instead of answering her question.

"Honestly? I don't know, Ron."

He closed his eyes and nodded, and she stroked his hair again.

They waited.

***

Ron always knew when he was being forced to make tough decisions, because his nails always ended up bitten to the quick and sometimes bleeding. He did not like thinking solemn things, being forced to think about the consequences of things he'd never ever choose if he had any other choice.

It was sunny now, all evidence of the snowstorm from three days ago melting away, dripping from the trees and running out onto the road. He let out a careful breath and forced his thoughts away, studying his nails instead, and scowling. Ginny would scold him and force him to let her heal them again, it was a daily ritual now, and had been for the past three days, while they waited for Draco to wake up.

The healer had stopped sedating him today, claiming that Draco was healed and only needed to sleep off the last effects of the sedatives and regain his strength, which could take anywhere from a matter of hours, to a few days.

Ron was betting on a matter of minutes. After all, it was Draco Malfoy. He didn't know if he was ready for Draco to wake up, if he'd worked up enough courage to say what needed to be said, do what needed to be done. But he had to do it right this time, had to make Draco understand.

Draco did not make a sound or movement that Ron was aware of when he finally woke. He gave no indication of confusion, discomfort, or pain, but that was to be expected from a Malfoy, who is born into the world with a sense of where he belongs and what his role is, and nothing would ever drive that from his mind.

So Ron had no idea how long Draco lay quiet and conscious and watched him, as he stared out the window and watched the melting snow.

He glanced over his shoulder finally and Draco smiled at him. It was a weak, wane smile, but still a smile.

"You're alright," Draco said, as if it had been Ron in danger and not himself.

For a long moment, Ron stared, stunned more by Draco's voice and the fact that he was awake and talking, than his actual words. "Yes," he replied.

There was another moment of quiet, and then Draco smiled again and held out his hand. "C'mere then," he said.

Ron came forward and took his hand. Instantly, Draco scowled. "What have you done to your hands?" he asked.

"Ginny will fix it," Ron replied, without even looking at his bloody fingertips.

Draco inspected his hand for a moment, before glancing up at him again.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" he asked softly.

Ron didn't know whether Draco was referring to the fact that he had nearly died, the fact that Ginny had nearly been killed, the fact that Ron had just spent days watching Draco burn with fever and pain, or any other of a million things. It didn't matter, though, because they were all bad and he started to cry, nodding wordlessly.

Draco tried to pull him closer, but Ron resisted. Frowning, Draco asked, "What's wrong?"

"I'm...I'm sorry," Ron whispered, shaking his head and forcing a smile through his tears. He stroked Draco's hand, which still held his, and let out a careful breath. "You're alive," he said, quietly, still stunned by that.

"Yeah and you haven't kissed me yet," Draco said sulkily. He still looked worried and confused.

"I know. Do you remember after you were stabbed? In the car?" Ron hoped he didn't.

"Yes," Draco said, eyes flashing with something cold and very strong. "I remember."

Ron flinched. "You remember what you said?"

"I said that this is love." Draco looked defiant, daring Ron to deny it. A strange flush was coming to his face, confusion and hurt and, above all, terror. Ron closed his eyes; if Draco knew what was coming, or even suspected, Ron did not want to know.

"You were wrong," he whispered, because he had to.

Draco's hand tightened convulsively around his, and he said, "I wasn't."

Opening his eyes, Ron smiled again, as gently as he could. "You would think that," he said, and he died just a little inside as his next words formed in his mind. "But then, no one's ever loved you."

Draco winced and let go of his hand. "Ron," he said, eyes wide and vulnerable and so un-Draco that they almost didn't look gray anymore.

Ron let his hand drop to his side, rubbing it almost absently on his leg. He took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to... I mean... I can't..." He shook his head, smoothed the hair off Draco's forehead, and kissed it gently. "I can't love you, Draco. I can't. It isn't safe."

He took a step back, and Draco sat up quickly, though he paled at even that movement. "I don't believe you," he said, eyes wild and voice shaking. "I don't fucking believe you."

"You don't have to believe me," Ron told him quietly. "It doesn't matter. I can't, that's all that matters."

Ron was backing towards the door, because his entire body was trembling and his eyes stinging with tears he did not want Draco to see.

Furious, Draco slid out of the bed, intending to come after him, to catch him and probably kiss some sense into him. He didn't make it, because his legs gave out and he fell, unconscious before Ron could even think to catch him.

"Oh god," Ron whispered, kneeling beside him and lifting his head into his lap, stroking his face. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, regret making it hard to breathe.

Harry must have heard Draco hit the ground, because the door flew open a moment later. "Is he--" he said. He stopped, surprised, when he saw Ron on the ground. "What happened?"

"He got out of bed, and he's still weak."

"He fainted?" Harry smirked.

"I want you to take him away," Ron said.

Harry blinked. "Take him where?"

"Anywhere as long as it's away from me."

Harry looked gently reproachful. "Ron."

"What?" Ron snarled, stroking Draco's face.

"I thought you were stronger than this."

Ron stared blankly up at him. Didn't Harry know that this was the hardest thing he'd ever done? That it was the bravest? "Just take him away. I can't... I just, can't, alright?"

Harry finally shrugged and said, "And what should I tell him when he wakes up?"

"Don't tell him anything."

Harry looked so disapproving of that, that Ron sighed and said, "Okay. Tell him... That I kissed him good-bye and want him to swear on his mother's life that he'll never drink again." He smiled a little, thought it was a strained and desperate effort. "And that I told you to look after him. That's what he said when he left me last time."

Sighing, Harry said, "You don't have to do this, Ron. I know you're scared and everything, but--"

"You don't know the first thing about me, Harry, and maybe you never did. I don't know." He forced a smile and then said, "I'm entrusting you with the most important thing in my life right now, that should count for enough, so that you can stop making me feel guilty for it. I feel worse than you're ever gonna know for this, so just take him and go, before he wakes up. I do not want to see him again."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, before shaking his head and snapping a lightening charm instead. He lifted Draco and stalked from the room, furious.

Ron still knelt there for a few minutes, trembling and trying not to be sick. Everything ached, like his entire body was just one huge bruise, though the ache was far more than physical. Finally, he let out a sharp breath and got to his feet. The front door slammed, and moments later, he heard the Knight Bus pull up outside, and then drive away.

His bedroom door opened and Ginny was there, seething. "What the hell are you doing, Ron?" she snapped.

Ron smiled, though it was empty and just a little bit lost. "I don't know," he admitted.

Her eyes narrowed. "Then why are you doing it? I thought... I thought...Ron, how could you? After everything? He nearly died because he was so worried about you! Because he loves you!"

Something inside Ron crumbled, and he started to cry. "I know," he said, voice choked with tears. "You think I don't know that?"

She was very still for a long moment, and then she closed her eyes and let out a frustrated breath. "Oh, Ron," she sighed. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you? I can't believe you'd just... because he..." Her shoulders slumped.

"I had to! We're just... not right. For each other, I mean. Because he's got other things to think about. I... forced him... to... to love me. And it wasn't fair."

"And this is fair?"

"This is right." He sat heavily on the bed and waited for her to comfort him, because she always, always comforted him when he hurt. This time, however, she snorted and walked away.

For a long time, after the front door slammed again, he stared in shock at his open bedroom door. And then he just cried harder.

***

Ron was not such a fool as to think that Draco would sit idly by in Harry's flat while Ron went about his normal life in London. Malfoys, as a general rule, craved revenge, and this was just the sort of thing they'd feel needed to be avenged. So as soon as he collected himself and had stopped crying (it took three days), he pulled out a few ratty old suitcases and started throwing things into them. He'd go away. A vacation, until all of this was cleared up and didn't hurt anymore. Some place warm and tropical, far, far away.

As soon as his bags were packed, Ron wrote a quick note to his mum and slipped it in the post box on his front step, so that the weekly owl would pick it up and deliver it for him in a few days. Then, locking up his flat, he hailed the Knight Bus and left.

He went first to the South of France, spending three days in a small hotel room, sitting by the window and staring into space. After he'd had enough of that, he went to Spain for a couple days, and then, tiring of large cities, and hoping that a week was long enough for Draco to have moved on and gotten over it, he hopped a Muggle bus to Weasley Manor.

Feeling bruised and battered all over, he was hoping for some peace and quiet, to get his head back on the right way around again, to heal, to get over this as best he could. It was for the best, after all.

Weasley Manor was just how he remembered it, except that the bedroom was trashed beyond all imagining. Ron spent a few long moments standing in the doorway and smiling fondly, because anything of Draco's was worth looking at, even something he'd destroyed.

But exhaustion was weighing down on him, so Ron dropped his things onto the floor, and crawled carefully over the mess so as not to disturb even the slightest part of it. The sheets had been torn off the bed, and he curled up around a pillow that still smelled faintly of Draco, though it could have been his imagination.

***

He woke when it was after dark, and because he had dreamt of Draco and started talking in his sleep, though he did not know what he had said. His own voice woke him, and he was momentarily confused, until he saw the mess littering the ground in the moonlight.

Feeling comforted by that, but still haunted by his dreams, he got out of bed, smoothing his hair back and fumbling around blindly for his cloak. He was feeling claustrophobic suddenly, and afraid of the dark.

It was a silent and still night, the moon was bright and reflected off the snow. Ron didn't know exactly where he was going, but he knew the area surrounding the cabin better than he knew anywhere else in the world, and the further he walked, the more he remembered.

His breath misted in the air before him, but it was soothing somehow, the coldness that surrounded him and made his body numb. He fancied that if he stayed outside long enough, the coldness would spread through his skin, to everything inside that hurt.

There was a river up ahead that Fred and George had once tossed him into when he was a boy, with a bridge where he and Ginny had spent countless hours sitting and tossing pebbles over the railing. He followed the river, watching the water run dark and cold under a thin coating of ice.

Ron climbed up onto the bridge and leaned against the railing, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. His shoulders slumped and he sighed, because everything still hurt and he had hoped it would have faded away by now, but really should have known better. He was also beginning to feel exceedingly stupid, and was wondering if perhaps he should withdraw again, run away again, live all alone and drink until he forgot everything because there was nothing in this life worth remembering except Draco, and that hurt.

He shivered and had just turned to head back to the manor, when Draco stepped onto the bridge. Their eyes met at the same time, Draco's going wide with shock, and Ron flinching, as if he'd been hit. For a long moment, they stared at each other, and then Ron noticed the snowshoes on Draco's feet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked shakily.

Draco blinked and his eyes narrowed. Without a word, he turned to walk away.

Ron watched Draco take two awkward steps in the shoes, thinking desperately that it was for the best, that it was meant to be this way, that he should, by no means, call out to him or try to stop him. "Draco, wait!" he called, wincing as all his thoughts drifted away. He could not let Draco walk away after he had just shown up there, as if Ron had conjured him up with his thoughts.

Draco did not pause.

Running off the snowy bridge, Ron grabbed his shoulder. "No, please," he begged.

Stiffening, Draco pulled away and turned, slowly, his face white with rage. "Don't fucking touch me."

Ron flinched and took a step back. "I'm sorry, it's just... I missed you."

Draco stared at him blankly and then started to turn away again. "If you came here to fuck with me again, Weasley, I won't let you," he said.

"I... no. I didn't know you were here. Why...why are you here?" Feeling lost and rather ineffective, Ron watched Draco stumble away on his snowshoes.

"Where else was I to go?" Draco snapped. "I'm not welcome at home, my mother would kill me after what I did to my father. I certainly wasn't going to stay with Potter..." He snorted. "And I figured, while you were running off scared, this was the last place you'd come to. I wanted to be wherever I thought I'd never have to fucking see you again, because if I did see you, I'd want to kill you. Past experience has taught me that murder is never the best way to solve things."

Ron blinked and tried to smile, but it was weak. "Oh," he said. He stepped back nervously, onto the bridge. "Did Harry tell you--"

"Shut the fuck up."

Ron did. Draco turned back to look at him, his shoulders shaking with his heavy breathing, and Ron watched for a long moment. "I thought... I thought it was funny," Draco said finally.

"Thought what was funny?" Ron asked softly, nervously. There was a sharp sort of rage burning in Draco that he could feel.

"That after every thing, after everything... all that... it was you who were fucking with me. After all of Potter's worries."

Ron winced. "It wasn't like that," he said.

"Then what the hell was it like?" Draco snarled, and Ron flinched. "You were fucking scared. Fuck, Ron, even in the beginning, when you were so fucked up and pathetic, I thought there was at least some bravery in you. I mean, hell, you were scared of your own shadow and still had the courage to keep breathing. That's got to count for something. I thought... I thought... you were brave. And then the second it starts getting hard, you walk away?"

That stung, and Ron swallowed hard. "I... You don't understand."

"What isn't there to understand?" Draco's voice was sharp, but he was so pale, his hands shaking so badly. "The second you get blood on your hands, you take off. As soon as it turns into something more than fucking and kissing and arguing, you run. Without an explanation, without anything."

"You left me that way last year," Ron said.

"Last year was different," Draco spat.

"How?" he scoffed, growing a little angry himself.

"Last year, I hadn't let you... let you be anything. Just... just someone... last year I could remember all the reasons why I didn't believe in relationships or... last year..." he trailed off, eyes going wide. "Last year, I didn't believe in love. It's not fucking fair for you to force me to believe and then lose your nerve."

Ron was at his side in a heartbeat, drawn by the strange sparkle in his eyes that could have been tears. "Draco," he whispered.

Draco shoved him, hard. "Don't touch me," he hissed.

"Let me explain." Ron felt like he was going to cry.

"I don't want an explanation!"

"What the fuck are you waiting here for me for then?" Ron snapped.

"I told you, I want to kill you."

"Oh, that's fucking mature."

Draco smirked and Ron hated it. Before he could hit him, kick him, shout at him, or stomp away, Draco sneered, "Did you want me to beg, Weasley? Like I begged Potter?"

"No." He shook his head wildly.

"Then what the fuck do you want from me?" It was nearly a shriek, so ragged and desperate and lost, and Ron closed his eyes, choking on the sudden urge to cry.

"I don't want anything from you, Draco," he whispered.

"Then...then why?"

"Why what? Why did I fuck you? Fall for you? Leave you?" Ron ran a hand through his hair and then answered the first two. "Because I wanted you and because you let me..." He trailed off.

"Then why did you leave me?" Draco hissed, furiously.

Ron's shoulder slumped and he said, "You nearly died."

"I'm well aware. Potter said you... you watched over me the whole time I recovered."

"I did."

"Then why--"

"Harry told me that... that it was because of me. That you'd been hit because of me. That you... you heard that someone was coming for me, and you were distracted, and because of that, you were nearly killed."

Draco frowned but didn't reply.

"I forced you to love me," Ron said carefully. "And it nearly got you killed."

"Why do you care?" Draco spat. "You told me you didn't love me."

Irritation, frustration, and pain made Ron react thoughtlessly, "I'm not worth it! I'm a fucking distraction and you nearly died for it and I will not be responsible for that!"

"Ron--" Draco said, looking stunned.

"I love you, of course I fucking love you! It was the hardest thing I've ever done! But I had to, and I'd do it again," he snarled almost spitefully. "I don't care if it makes you hate me. Even better if it does!

Draco looked confused for a long moment, and then said, "If you love me, why did you leave me here and go back to London?"

Hurt and frustration made Ron speechless, and he just stared blankly, torn between rage and the urge to cry. "You told me that loving Harry taught you that love is degrading," he said finally, his voice very rough. "Shouldn't it also taught you that loving someone who doesn't love you back fucking hurts?"

He had started to cry and he hadn't wanted to cry in front of Draco, so Ron turned quickly, nearly blindly stumbling away, as quickly as he could.

"Ron," Draco called, reaching for him, and Ron only shook his head wildly and tried running, but he couldn't see where he was going, blinded by tears. It was a stupid thing to do, really, and in future days, he would wonder what had been stupider, leaving Draco the way he had, or running on an icy bridge blinded by tears.

So he fell, slipping in the ice and tripping over the railing, tumbling down onto the thin layer of frozen water below. The impact stunned him and there was a sharp crack, whether it was his bones or the railing or the ice, he was too numb and startled to tell. All he knew was that something cracked, and stars danced in his eyes, and it was very, very silent, after that crack faded away. He was just trying to decide whether or not the fall had killed him when he heard Draco's snowshoes snapping in half as the other boy tore them off, and then, swearing nearly hysterically, Draco was leaping over the railing and landing beside him.

"You fell off the fucking bridge!"

Ron blinked a few times and wondered why it sounded like his bones were breaking all over again, and why he couldn't feel it. "Ouch," he said, hoping that saying it would cue in whatever pain receptors his brain seemed to be missing now, if only to let him know what exactly was broken.

Draco was ripping his clothes off, cursing the bridge, cursing him, cursing everything in the world, and Ron wondered distantly when things would start to hurt. Something wasn't quite right and the whole earth seemed to be shifting somehow.

"I can't believe you," Draco berated him. "It's a fucking bridge, Weasley, people don't just fall off bridges! They fall off horses and brooms and wagons... Where does it hurt? Are you alright? Son of a bitch..." he mumbled furiously as he pulled Ron's shirt away, searching for wounds, and Ron yelped at the sudden cold. Draco took that yelp for a sound of pain, and began searching more desperately for the wound, pulling out his wand so he could heal it.

Ron wasn't paying attention, because distantly, as his naked back gradually grew moist, he was remembering something important. He'd fallen on ice and it wasn't his bones cracking at all.

He moaned and closed his eyes. This was all very embarrassing. Tragic, really...

"Oh god. Ron. Shh. You're alright. Fuck, where does it hurt? Oh god."

Draco really seemed to be falling apart, and Ron opened his eyes, trying to smile reassuringly, though the fall had stunned him and knocked the wind right out of him and he couldn't quite speak yet.

Blinking back tears, Draco smiled brightly, reassuringly, at him, and said, "Don't worry. I'll take care of you. You're fine."

"Draco," Ron wheezed, gasping for breath.

"Don't talk," Draco scolded, and then, to emphasize the point, he kissed Ron on the mouth. "Where does it hurt?"

"You told me not to talk..." he trailed off, because everything was rather hazy, and there was something important he'd forgotten to tell Draco...something... hmm.

Draco was panicking again, and he closed his eyes, breathing heavily. "I don't know what to do," he admitted finally, his eyes opening again.

Ron blinked and smiled because whatever it was he'd forgotten certainly couldn't matter as much as the fact that Draco had kissed him, the fact that Draco was falling apart because of him, the fact that even though they'd just been screaming and fighting, Draco still cared enough to panic that he might be hurt.

He sat up, wincing because his body felt stiff, though nothing was broken. "Draco?" he asked quietly, and everything around him started to vibrate. He naively thought it was some profound emotion, like love. It wasn't.

"Ron? Does it hurt?" Draco asked worriedly.

"Draco, I lied. I love you. I left you here because I didn't think you loved me, and if you did, I figured you'd come after me. I made Harry take you away because I didn't think you loving me was worth losing your life over."

Draco finally forgot about the injury and the fall, though Ron was very much aware of it, given that his chest was bare, his back was wet, and there was ice melting under his legs-- ice. Oh shit.

Before he could comment on that, Draco was kissing him, just lightly. "You're an idiot," he growled. "You're the one who told me that some people are worth risking everything for."

Ron started smiling, though he tried to restrain it. Something bright and sunny was beginning to glow somewhere deep inside him, where all these years there had only been shadow and loneliness. There was no other way to describe the strange, bubbling feeling that was coming over him. It was a little uncomfortable and frightening and he did not want Draco to know it was happening, in case it was the result of a head injury or, more embarrassing, something like what had happened to that green goblin thing in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, which Hermione had made him watch one Christmas. Growing a heart looked like painful business.

Draco was watching him worriedly. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Becoming aware of his dorky grin, Ron cleared his throat and said, "Am I..." he flushed.

"Are you what?"

"Worth risking everything for?"

Draco didn't answer. Instead, he kissed Ron hard, pulling him close and running his warm hands over Ron's freezing shoulders and back, forcing his lips open and answering him that way, by kissing him until he couldn't remember the question. Ron moaned into his mouth and smiled, content to let Draco's hands warm him, following his tongue back into Draco's mouth and melting against him.

Draco pulled away and kissed the corner of his lips. "Love you," he mumbled, looking quite put out at having to say it. "'Course you are."

Ron beamed, and as he did, the ice cracked and fell out from beneath them.

The sudden shock of going from freezing to death at a relatively moderate rate, to sudden and complete submersion in icy water was so startling that Ron's first reaction was to gasp. Freezing water filled his mouth, and he kicked to the surface, coughing and sputtering, scrubbing the water off his face with the back of his hand, blinking water out of his eyes and trying not to get swept away by the current. There wasn't much chance of that, it was a very slow moving river. Still, he looked around in terror, until he saw Draco coughing near by.

"Holy shit," Draco yelped, when he'd caught his breath.

Ron couldn't help it. He was shivering and freezing, but could not prevent a burst of hysterical giggles. "Oh my god," he snickered.

"This isn't funny." Draco's hair was wild and wet, the tips already freezing, and Ron giggled again.

"I know. And my dad's gonna kill you for breaking those snowshoes, did I mention that?"

Draco's eyes narrowed and, before he could reply, Ron Apparated out of the river and back to the warmth of Weasley Manor.

He immediately cast a fire in the hearth and grabbed three blankets and two towels from the linen closet. He was just tossing them to the floor as near to the fire as he dared, when Draco Apparated into the cottage, shivering violently.

Ron wrapped him in a blanket and then snuggled into one himself, spreading the other on the floor and sitting on it next to Draco, drying his hair with the towel. Draco protested, but the sound was muffled by the towel, and Ron happily ignored it. He could get used to this, this looking after someone else.

He let the towel drop finally, and Draco's hair was standing up wildly. Ron smoothed it while Draco glared at him balefully.

"Are we okay, then?" Ron asked, sitting back and burrowing into his blanket, teeth chattering.

Draco smiled a little, a flush rising to his icy cheeks. "Do you... want to be? I mean... you won't... leave again?" It was probably incredibly difficult for him even to ask, and Ron slid closer, leaning his head on Draco's shoulder so that Draco wouldn't have to look at him and he could easily pretend not to notice Draco's blush.

"Hmm," he sighed, closing his eyes. Draco wrapped an arm around him. "And you'll live with me in London and pay rent and not bitch about my Ravioli?" he mumbled, feeling a little sleepy as warmth came trickling back into his body.

Draco considered for a moment, and then said, "Well, if I do bitch about it, you won't throw a fit and leave me, will you? Because I can't make any promises." Ron could hear the wicked grin in his voice and he smiled in reply.

"I can't make any promises either... but I'd probably come back soon enough. You won't leave while I'm gone?"

Instead of waiting for a reply, Ron arched and turned awkwardly, kissing him. Draco kissed him back just as sweetly, and, without breaking the kiss, Ron wriggled out of his blanket and straddled him. "We should get you outta those wet clothes," he whispered, smirking. Draco laughed and kissed him again.

# Unbecoming Epilogue

Unbecoming

Epilogue.

Three Weeks Later

There was a feverish pounding on the door, and Ron frowned. It was far too early for visitors. But the knocking came again, and he opened the door a crack.

Oliver Wood stood there, looking rather sheepish. "Hey, Ron," he said,

"Shh!" Ginny hissed suddenly from behind him. "Get in, get in, hurry." She shoved Oliver into the flat and kicked the door shut behind her, locking it quickly. "You've got to hide him."

Ron blinked. "What? Ginny, what's going on?"

"What's going on?" she shrieked. "Do you live in a hole? Honestly! It's on the front page of the newspaper! Don't you read the newspaper?"

"I write for it," Ron mumbled, offended. He picked up the paper, which he had tossed absently aside just moments before, while getting ready for work. "And try to be quiet. Draco's sleeping."

Oliver's eyes brightened and Ginny didn't seem to be paying attention. She unrolled the paper and held it up. On the front page, in bold letters, it said 'Quidditch Hero Oliver Wood To Wed Ministry Official's Daughter'. There was a picture below that of Oliver and Ginny, looking stunned.

Ron stared blankly at it and Ginny threw it back on the table. "Don't you get it?" she wailed. "Mum reads that! And I hadn't told her!"

"Mum... Oliver..." Ron trailed off, stunned. "Ginny, you and... Oliver?"

She scowled. "Yes, me and Oliver! That doesn't matter! What matters is that... well, Mum'll be after me for sure!"

He glanced at Oliver, who was beaming and glancing around in fascination, as though seeking a glimpse of the Fabled Boyfriend, who was, Ron hoped, asleep. "You're marrying my sister?" he asked pointedly.

Oliver turned back and smiled. "Apparently. I mean, I'd just asked her the other day, I don't know how the papers found out... But yeah."

Ginny was still panicking and running around the flat, looking for someplace to hide. "Mum'll be here any minute. She can always find me. That dratted clock of hers. Blast it. So I figured there was no point in running. A distraction was in order."

"Distraction?" Ron echoed, still quite stunned.

"Yeah." She grinned. "You haven't told Mum that you have a live-in boyfriend yet, have you? And the fact that it's Draco Malfoy might also be helpful. So I figured she'd come here intending to murder me, and you could do the noble thing and sacrifice yourself so that I could still be free to marry Oliver!"

Ron's eyes widened terribly. "Oh my god," he moaned. "Ginny!"

"You've been bribing me for weeks to report the same things to Mum. That you're still living alone and moping! I couldn't keep up the lies anymore!" she cried melodramatically.

"You're selling me out!"

"I had to." She looked at him pleadingly.

"Bloody hell. I'd best owl in sick... I don't think I'll be getting to work today."

He did so, quickly, and had just sent Pig out the window with the message, when there was a sharp knock on the door. Ginny paused in her efforts to hide Oliver behind a curtain, and Ron paled.

He tried to look calm and dignified when he opened his door to let his mother in, but he failed miserably and she took one look at him and said, "What have you done now, Ronald Weasley?"

"Ginny's hiding Oliver behind the curtain," he blurted.

"You rat," Ginny hissed.

Ron just smiled nervously as Mrs. Weasley stalked over to the curtain and tore it aside, looking Oliver up and down. "This is the boy?" she snapped.

"Yes, Mum," Ginny stammered. She tried to smile. "We meant to tell you."

Ron was perfectly content to watch as his mother firmly berated both Oliver and Ginny, asked a thousand questions concerning Oliver's background and breeding, financial situation, and religious views. He sat on the loveseat and watched, distantly amused.

And then Draco appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, dressed only in a pair of loose jeans, his hair wild from sleep, face lined from his pillow. Ron forgot all about his mother, sister, and future brother-in-law. He grinned at Draco as Draco yawned and came over to join him, sliding onto the couch and curling up against him. He blinked sleepily at Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Oliver.

"You didn't go to work," Draco said, voice rough from sleep.

Ron licked the side of his neck affectionately, mostly because he knew Draco hated signs of affection like that in public. Draco growled and Ron laughed. "I didn't. Because... oh fuck. My mum." Startled and suddenly remembering there were others in the room, Ron raised his head to look. They were all staring at him, Ginny looking very smug, Oliver looking intrigued, and Mrs. Weasley looking stunned.

"Who," she said carefully, "Is that boy Ron is licking and why did he just come from Ron's bedroom?"

"That," Ginny pointed out loudly, "though hard to recognize, is Draco Malfoy, Ron's boyfriend."

"Hard to recognize?" Draco sputtered indignantly, not at all aware of his disheveled appearance, or maybe just obnoxiously vain despite it.

"Boyfriend?" Mrs. Weasley nearly howled.

"Erm. I meant to tell you," Ron said weakly.

She bore down on them with the fury of a thousand suns. "Ronald Weasley," she hissed. "I am not impressed."

Ron shrunk back against the couch, and beside him Draco started shaking with silent laughter. "I'm sorry," Ron squeaked.

Her eyes narrowed and she turned to Draco, inspecting him critically. "He's too skinny," she snapped.

Draco's laughter abruptly stopped and a flush of indignation rose to his cheeks. Before he could speak, however, Mrs. Weasley continued. "And furthermore, it is positively unseemly to go about so poorly dressed when there are guests over."

"We didn't expect any guests," Ron said weakly, looking to Draco for help.

"Lucius Malfoy's son, hmm?" she said now, turning back to her inspection. Draco tilted his head up arrogantly, managing to look like a prince despite his messy appearance. "Hmm. The splitting image of him."

"Looks may be hereditary, but not everything else is," Draco said quietly.

She squinted, and Ron took Draco's hand, wanting to lend support. He'd been dealing with his mother all his life and still wasn't used to it. Mrs. Weasley glanced down to their entwined hands and then back up to Ron's face critically. "You are using that lubricant I gave you, I trust?" she said.

Ron moaned and beside him, Draco burst into helpless peals of laughter. "I'm... I'm sorry," he managed to gasp, moments later, while Ron was still trying to will himself into a dead faint. "Excuse me, I can't..." he left the room, still laughing helplessly, and Ron could hear Ginny and Oliver laughing as well.

He opened his eyes to find his mother still waiting imperiously for an answer. He cleared his throat. "Yes, mum," he mumbled, and Ginny and Oliver just laughed harder. "If you don't mind... I better go check on...on Draco."

He fled to his bedroom and closed the door, casting eight locking charms and three silencing charms on it before falling face first onto his bed and moan, shaking with a sharp, strange mixture of hysterical laugher and cries of pain.

Draco was still snickering, but he sat on the bed next to Ron, smoothing his hair and stroking his back. "Calm down," he tried soothing, but the amusement in his tone made it difficult to be calmed.

Rolling over, Ron sniffled and grimaced. "That was the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me."

"Stop thinking about it," Draco suggested, and then he went about trying to distract him, unbuttoning the shirt Ron had intended to wear to work and kissing his chest in random places.

"They're all laughing at me."

Draco licked his collarbone and made a distracted sound. "I can't hear them."

"I put silencing charms on the door," Ron sighed, shifting underneath him and closing his eyes. He felt Draco's grin against his throat.

"Good."

"I'll never be able to look them in the eye again."

"Good," Draco said again, sucking on his neck. "We can just stay in here until they go away."

"What if they never leave?" Ron moaned.

Draco smirked and kissed his lips hard. "Even better," he purred, and Ron laughed.

"We'll stay in here forever?" he asked, growing a little breathless.

"Mm hmm," Draco agreed. He kissed Ron again and Ron smiled against his lips, content and let his eyes close, because this made all of that humiliation and all of the hurt he'd experienced all his life worth it. It wasn't perfect, but it was real, and he kissed Draco back, forgetting the pain and loneliness and everything else except Draco, because nothing else mattered. His mother and Ginny could tear his flat apart and Oliver could knock a hole in the door and watch through it, and Ron wouldn't notice.

Nothing mattered except this.


End file.
